Closer to Fine
by RuthieTudor
Summary: Rita has problems, sure. Then again so does he. In fact, they might destroy each other first. And that boy wonder oncologist just keeps complicating things. House/OC.
1. My Name is Rita

A/N: Here we go again... let's see if I can finish this one. Feedback is appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own it... Duh!

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I've never felt so alone in my entire life, sitting in that huge room with all those people. I felt so worthless. I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders and there was no running away this time. The airport was busy on this Thursday, and as I waited for my flight from New York to Germany I was sure I was going to pee my pants. I didn't want to go; not like this. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wanted something, anything, to make me feel like this wasn't happening. What I didn't realize until I was sitting on that plane was that I was, in fact, already running. How do you spend so many years with one person and have so many feelings for one person and then just run away like this? If I thought about it, I couldn't remember why I was running so far away. 

Maybe I should introduce myself before I go on chattering about my problems. My name is Rita Johnson and I work for the CDC. Of course, it isn't the dream job of my childhood, but I had wanted to work with viruses. I guess I got my wish in the end. If you remember one thing about me, remember this: I am not happy and I haven't been for a very long time. I'm not happy with anything anymore. I grew up on a Naval Base in California with my father, two brothers, sister, and evil stepmother, Dana. My mother died when I was very little and I can't remember her at all. My father was a pilot in the Navy, a Captain. He'd been all over the world and left my siblings and me with Dana constantly.

I was a miserable child. I never talked much and the only thing I ever seemed to show interest in was music. I loved to sing and to play the piano. I taught myself how to play the guitar and the violin. I spent hours in front of the piano, playing songs I'd heard on the radio by ear until I could do it with almost no error. Dana hated my music. When I think about it now, I think she might have been jealous. She was good for nothing. She couldn't even cook. She'd give my older sister money to go to the grocery store and then force her to cook, clean, and do the laundry. I would help occasionally but I was never good at common household tasks. Usually I would sit behind the piano and provide my family with background music while they performed their various tasks. I would play until Dana came up behind me and smashed my fingers with the lid.

I never did well in school and I had problems socializing. I didn't have many friends and that's the way I was until our new next door neighbors moved in. On one rare occasion when my father was actually home he sat my siblings and I down to explain who the people next door were. I can't rightly remember the rank of the man of the house but I know he was higher than my father.

"I want you all to be very nice to the new neighbors. The father is a pilot too and I know that their boy will appreciate some friends here." He gave a pointed stare to my brothers and then looked to my sister and I, "I want you to make them something, cookies or something, and take them over. Introduce our family and make friends. I have to go to work."

I remember looking at my sister and being petrified. I wasn't scared of making cookies or even leaving them with the new neighbors, I was afraid of meeting them. Many of the people who lived in our neighborhood where not interested in getting to know the people around them. Often the houses were up for sale so often it seemed like people barely had time to move in before they were off again. There were hardly ever any other children on the base.

Rebecca, my sister, made some chocolate chip cookies and wrapped them up in tin foil, not allowing anyone else to have one. She worked hard on those cookies, obviously wanting to impress the neighbors. I couldn't understand why my sister and my father had taken such an interest in impressing these people. I understood by the time we reached their house.

Becky rang the doorbell and a nice looking woman answered. She smiled broadly and motioned us in, "You two must be from next door. I'm Blythe House. Please, come in."

We walked in and I remember being in awe of all the boxes. It looked like the family owned a whole department store and they were trying to pack it all into one tiny house. Becky did all the talking and I just stood there with my mouth open; I'd seen their piano. It was beautiful. It took up a lot of the room, sitting it the corner; a baby grand. I'd never seen one in person before and I'd only seen one on television maybe twice. I immediately wanted to touch it but I wasn't completely socially inept, I knew to keep my distance. I just looked at it longingly.

"I'm Rebecca Johnson and this is my little sister Rita. We live next door. I brought you guys some cookies." I remember glancing at Blythe while Becky held out the cookies. She looked surprised, like she couldn't believe a sixteen-year-old and a fourteen-year-old were capable of this. Blythe led us back to the kitchen and set the cookies on the counter, unwrapping them.

"Mom, I can't find my records. Where'd you put the box?" Suddenly there was a boy. It seemed as if he had come out of nowhere.

"I don't know, honey. We'll find them. Come have a cookie. These two lovely young ladies from next door brought them. Greg, this is Rebecca and Rita." I looked up at Blythe and was sure she couldn't be talking about me. She winked at me and proceeded to get three glasses out of the cupboard and fill them with milk from the fridge, setting the cookies on a plate and putting them on the kitchen table.

"Come on girls. Have a seat and eat some of these cookies, there are far too many for the three of us. You'll have to help us eat them." She was just about the coolest mom I had ever seen. Dana would have never done something like this for us. She would have eaten all the cookies herself, most likely.

Greg didn't seem nervous, he jumped up on a chair and grabbed a cookie and a glass, "Are these chocolate chip? Man! That's my favorite!" He proceeded to shove the whole cookie in his mouth and take a huge gulp of his milk.

Blythe motioned to the two other chairs at the table and smiled at us, "Gregory, manners please."

Greg belched loudly and then looked sideways at his mother, "Um, 'scuse me."

Becky and I got the memo and sat down. I took the smallest cookie I could see and nibbled on it. I think Greg gave me a look similar to someone inspecting some unknown animal. Becky slid into the chair next to Greg and smiled at him. I knew then that I would be seeing more of that boy. My sister wasn't going to let him out of her grasp until she was done with him. I, on the other hand, didn't give him a passing glance. I can't even remember if I noticed his electric blue eyes, or his long and graceful fingers, or the funny way he smirked instead of smiling. All I knew was I wanted to be in that house more. I wanted Blythe to like me and I wanted to play that damn piano.


	2. Playing the Blues

A/N: Chapter two. I've decided to write this sort of like diary entries. It starts out with the present and then goes into the past. Pretty soon it'll be all present. You need back story first... see? Please review. People keep adding it to Story Alert but not reviewing. Reviewing is basically your form of payment. You wouldn't steal a book from a store would you? SO REVIEW!!

Disclaimer: Still don't own it.

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Germany was big and scary. I'd never been out of the country, let alone to a country where no one spoke my language. I was horrified. I got a taxi from the airport and gave the driver the directions to the offices where I was to meet the people I would be working with for the next two years. I've never regretted something so much as I did that moment. All I wanted to do was get back on a plane and go back to the people that loved me. I could only remember one other time in my life when I was this scared, and it wasn't a pretty memory.

I was sixteen and yet still that girl who no one seemed to see eye to eye with. I was alone in the house one day, my siblings off at a football game, my dad in Europe, and my stepmother was out doing whatever she did on Friday nights. I was curled up, reading for an English assignment. I always tried to get my homework done on Fridays so that I could spend the rest of the weekend relaxing. I remember looking at the clock, seeing that I'd been studying for three hours, and slamming my book shut, deciding I deserved a break.

I went over to our shabby upright piano and began to play a song I'd written myself. I liked to think I'd written this song for my mother, as it was sad and longing, but I knew in my heart that it was all about me. I remember hearing the sound of the door to the garage opening and footsteps behind me. I figured it was just Dana, coming home to ruin my night. I immediately stopped playing and pulled my hands away from the keys, expecting her to slam it shut and tell me to go to my room.

"Don't--" That definitely wasn't Dana, that was a male voice. I slowly turned my head around, not recognizing the voice off hand. It was in this moment that I really looked at him. Gregory House was standing behind me, looking at me like I'd just ripped out his spleen.

I opened my mouth to say something and he gestured for me to shut up, sitting down next to me on the bench and looking at me, "Well, are you going to keep playing or what?"

I looked at him like he was crazy. This eighteen year old kid had just broken into my house and _he_ was demanding _me_! He stopped scowling and gave me a look that said more than he ever would. I played. For a few minutes I just played the chords, then I got comfortable with him and I began to sing. I remember him being shocked at my voice. He just stared at me. I think that moment was when we both decided that the opinions that we'd made of each other had been horribly wrong.

I finished the song and he just kept looking at me. For a good solid minute we were silent. The phone rang and, for a second, neither of us moved to get it. We just sat there, looking at each other. I was afraid he thought I was horrible and I think he was just in awe that those noises came out of a girl like me.

Finally, after three rings, I jumped up and ran for the phone. I grabbed it off its cradle on the table next to the couch and answered, still shaky from the intimate experience I'd just come out of.

"Johnson residence, this is Rita." I listened to the man on the other end tell me my father was dead and my expression never changed. I remember Greg telling me, years later, that he thought it'd just been one of my siblings telling me they were going to be late or something. I didn't make a sound, not even when he hung up. I just set the phone down and stood there, staring at it.

I turned to Greg and stared at him. I guess I'd decided that the phone wasn't interesting enough. He felt me staring at him and he stopped playing the piano and turned to look at me. He stood up and stared back.

"What? Is there something on my face?" He knew, I think, but he didn't want to let on. He had to keep being the Greg we all knew, the bitter, witty, sarcastic Greg.

"Um—" I couldn't put words together right and I didn't know what to say to him, "You should leave. My dad is dead."

He looked at me and then it seemed to sink in. I don't know what happened first, him saying, "Oh shit, that sucks" or me bursting into tears. Maybe it all happened at the same time.

Greg grabbed my arm and pulled me down to the couch, sitting next to me. He didn't know what else to do. So he just sat and I just cried. What he didn't know is that what he did was just enough. I didn't need someone to hug me and tell me they felt my pain. I just needed someone to sit with me while I cried.

The only thing I remember between that night and my father's funeral is the constant bustle and all the fights. I started skipping school and I got in fights with Dana constantly. I wasn't angry about anything, I was just scared. I didn't know what to do so I just sat. I was just there and everyone noticed that I'd changed.

My dad's funeral was outside and it was small. My grandparents were dead and my mother's parents didn't speak to us. Greg's parents were there and my siblings and Dana and I were there. That was about the whole crowd. It was a sorry excuse for a funeral.

While we were walking back to the car, Blythe pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, "If you need somewhere to get away, you know where to find us."

I didn't ask her why and I didn't even say thank you. I just looked at her and she knew. People used to always tell me that they could see my soul through my green eyes. I don't think I ever believed it until that moment. She sighed and pulled me into a quick hug before tugging me along towards the cars.

Four months later I was done with my sophomore year in high school. I never took Blythe up on her offer. Partly because I didn't think I could live so close to Greg and partly because of the yelling I could hear coming from their house some nights. Greg and I spent a lot of time together in those four months. He never really had a lot of close friends. He'd dated my sister on and off for about six months and then moved on to other girls. In fact, I noticed that he went through girls like Dana went through boxes of chocolate. He wasn't happy either. So, while helping him pack up his things for college, I decided that, between that moment and the next time I saw him, I was going to figure out a way for us both to be happy.


	3. The Rough American Man

A/N: Here's another chapter. Thanks so much for my first review!! I don't know if I'm happy with the way this story is going. I'm sort of writing it as the ideas come into my head. I'm on spring break now so I'm going to go back over this and maybe rewrite it. Let me know if you like it this way or if you think it should change! Thanks!

No Flashbacks in this chapter but don't worry. Our favorite irate doctor still makes an appearance.

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine.

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"Rita? Are you coming to lunch or what?" Jack, one of the other virologists, stuck his head into my office and gave me a worried look. Jack was one of those sensitive guys; I guess another word for it is gay. He was great though and, as the only other American in the team of researchers here, he gave me a tiny piece of home to hold on to. 

"I just got done dissecting a dead monkey and you're asking me out to lunch? How long have you been doing this job?" I turned away from my computer to look at him, the report could wait, "Is there an ulterior motive here?"

"You've been sad. You need some time away from the bio-hazard. We should go on a trip, you know, sight see a little." Jack leaned against the doorjamb and gave me a pleading look. Who can resist that?

"Fine, I'll go to lunch with you. We'll discuss sightseeing later. We have a lot of work to do here." I pushed back my chair and grabbed my coat, ready to fight the cold rain and wind that never seemed to stop.

We got outside and walked over to a tiny restaurant about a block from the lab. Jack held the door open for me and I walked into the warm room. I picked a table and sat down, not even looking at the menu. I started to relax as I surveyed the room.

"Do you know what you want?" Jack was glancing at the menu, he could speak German.

"Some sort of soup, something that isn't nasty, and a grilled cheese." I didn't make any effort to look at him. I was watching the rain come down in sheets outside. The waitress came over and took our order. Jack did all the ordering, as usual. I had meant to learn German when I'd signed up to go here but I was never motivated.

"Boy Rita, you are in some sort of funk." Jack was putting sugar in his coffee. When had the waitress brought us coffee?

"I guess I just miss home a lot. I left some loose ends and it's been bothering me a lot lately." That was an understatement. Angry abusive boyfriend and dying sister fit the bill better.

"I thought the whole idea of coming here was to escape the average American hospital for a while. Come on Rita, I know where you were working before you came here. Los Angeles General is not something I think you want to go back to." Jack stirred his coffee and took a sip, eying me carefully.

"You're right. I don't want to go back to L.A. but lately, that's the best job I can get; ever since that incident with the Dean of Medicine at Berkley. I haven't been able to shake that." I scowled down at my own coffee, remembering the looks on the faces of the board after I'd lost my temper. Looking back, I'm pretty sure that move was made in a moment of weakness.

"What did you do to the Dean at Berkley?" Oh good, Jack was sticking his nose in my past again.

"I mouthed off after he cut my funding. He accused me of spending more money than I had and I told him to stuff it." I was surprised my coffee wasn't boiling yet, I was staring at it so hard.

"Wow, Rita. If you have any flaws, it's that. You don't know when to shut up." Jack laughed and I moved my scowl from the coffee to him. How dare he laugh at me! He's younger than I am!

"Oh? It's that noticeable, huh?" The waitress picked this moment to bring us our food. Completely ignoring me, she tried to flirt with Jack. I stifled a laugh, knowing that it wouldn't end well for our waitress.

The rest of lunch went on in relative silence. That's something I like about Jack, he can push your buttons but he knows when enough is enough. Maybe he was right. Maybe I didn't know where to draw the line like he did.

As soon as we made it back to the lab I headed for my office. Jack let me go, knowing that I was still brooding about those loose ends. I ran into Ana, our resident Spaniard, and she handed me a pink slip and grinned at me, "It was some rough American man. He wanted me to give him your cell phone number and got angry when I wouldn't. It sounded urgent."

"Thanks Ana. I'll check it out." I took the slip and headed back to my office. At last, I could get some paperwork done in relative peace. Laying the pink slip down on my desk, I didn't even give it a passing glance as I turned on my laptop and got back to work.

It wasn't until three hours later when I realized I'd forgotten to call the "rough American man" back. I glanced down at the name and felt all the blood rush to my face. What did _he_ want? Five minutes later I realized I was staring at the piece of pink paper in my hand, expecting an answer. I looked at my clock and sighed, it was late in America. The call would have to wait.

I did my paperwork and, just as I was finishing up, my phone rang. I couldn't imagine who would be calling me, but I answered anyway.

"Dr. Johnson."

"Is this Dr. Rita Johnson?" Okay, the voice was familiar, and male, and American. I knew this person but clearly I hadn't heard their voice in a long time.

"Yes it is. Can I help you?" I was confused, honestly. Who would be calling me from America at this time of night?

"You don't recognize my voice? I'm upset. I thought all that time we spent talking would have made my voice impossible for you to forget. We wouldn't have spent all that time together if it wasn't for those awesome chocolate chip cookies your sister always made."

"Greg?" I could feel my heart in my throat and I had to clear it before I could say his name. It hurt to say it.

"Absolutely, Rita May." He sounded amused.

"Why are you calling me?" Just breathe. Focus on breathing, and blinking. Breathing and blinking.

"You didn't call me back. Someone has to lecture you for being irresponsible." Finally, I could respond without worrying about a self-inflicted heart attack.

"Irresponsible? Why'd you call me the first time?" That was better than the grunt I had planned.

"I need you to fly to Princeton, tomorrow." Suddenly he was serious and I found myself leaning forward, as if he was in the room with me and we were having a serious discussion.

"What's going on?"

"I'm getting married."

"What? What!" I had to say it twice before it hit me. He was what?

"I'm kidding Johnson, take a joke." I knew how I was to respond.

"I'll take a joke if you'll get a clue." I was a tradition. He'd say one thing and I'd say another. If I didn't say my line he'd point it out. I heard him laugh on the other end and then he sighed.

"I'm going to say something that I've only said to you twice since we met." Was he apologizing for something?

"I'm listening." I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was barely coming to terms with the fact that I was talking to Gregory House, let alone coming up with any witty comebacks. He was just as witty as ever though.

There was a long silence and I thought maybe we'd lost the connection and then I heard him take a deep breath, "I need your help."

Oh, he was right. He had only said this twice since we'd met. He wasn't used to asking anyone for help, "With what? Last time I checked, you were pretty self reliant. Unless you're talking about woman problems, in which case, I don't want to be involved."

"Very funny; I have a case here that I think you'd be interested to see." Of course it had to do with work. From what I'd heard, Greg didn't do anything else. Ever since Stacy and the infarction, he just stopped functioning.

"Is that all you're going to say? I'm in Germany, Greg; you'll have to do more convincing than that." I leaned back in my chair and tried to get comfortable, it was a difficult task.

"Yep, I think that's just about it."

"Greg."

"I'm faxing you the file. Read it and buy the damn plane ticket. I expect to see you here on Wednesday." He was getting ready to hang up, I could tell. I had to get the next words out quickly and carefully or he'd hang up on me.

"Is this the only reason you want me to come to Princeton? Is there something else you want from me?" I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't hang up. Wait. Was a seriously wanting to talk to him more?

He let out a big sigh and I let out a silent cheer, "I've missed you Rita. It's been a long time. Get your ass to Jersey."

He hung up and I tried to breathe again. When my fax machine started to beep I realized I was still holding the phone to my ear. I put the phone back in its cradle and took a minute to wonder where he got my phone number and fax number. Somehow, I don't think Ana was the only one he'd talked to.

I grabbed the print out from the fax machine and read the cover letter. It didn't say much:

_Rita,_

_I won't ask twice._

_- Greg_

I glanced through the file and had to start coaching myself to breathe again; I was getting excited. Was he serious? A case of hemorrhagic in America? He had to be insane.


	4. Infarction

A/N: Hello all! My spring break is officially over and it's back to school with me. I've decided to leave the story the way it is and just try to keep it going. I have NO plans for this thing... it's sort of just writing itself. Please review and feel free to leave suggestions and comments. I love those. This chapter stops short because it's midnight and I need to get to sleep, but I wanted to post something. Hopefully I can continue it tomorrow and not leave you hanging for too long.

Disclaimer: Nope.

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It was November and hot as ever in Berkley, California. I was working under another virologist at UC Berkley, Dr. Robert Boston. He was the type of man that everyone took advantage of. If I liked anything about those five years of my life, it was the fact that I could get away with anything. It was on the twenty-first of that November that I received the unexpected call that changed my perspective on medicine.

"This is Dr. Johnson." I answered my phone with the same monotone I always used. I hated talking on the phone.

"Hi there, Dr. Johnson, this is Dr. Lisa Cuddy at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital." I couldn't remember where I'd heard that name before. I knew it, though. I was sure.

"Yes? What can I do for you?" I was trying to be polite but I really didn't want to hear what she had to say. I had some gels waiting for me in the lab.

"I was wondering if you knew a Gregory House. He's a doctor here, and a patient at the moment, and he keeps asking about you. He wanted me to track you down." I stopped daydreaming and tried to focus. Greg? Yes, Greg. That childhood friend that you pushed into having sex with you that time you visited his college. Greg. The one everyone thought was your brother.

"I know him. We've been friends for a long time. What's wrong?" Dr. Boston walked into the conference room and gave me a look. I waved him away and turned around. That was definitely going to get me at least a repeat of the "I'm your boss" lecture.

"For some reason, he's told me not to tell you. He said you wouldn't come out here if I told you. He told me to tell you to drop everything and come but I'm sure-"

I cut her off, "I'll be there in a day or so. Don't let him make any dumb decisions and don't let Stacy do that either." Then I hung up on her.

"I hope that was a family emergency Dr. Johnson. That or your house just caught fire." I turned back to Dr. Boston just as he began the first parts of the ever famous lecture.

"It was, and I have to go." I walked out, grabbing my coat and bag, and headed for the Dean's office to tell him that I was going to be going away for a while.

"Absolutely not!" Dean Martin was not impressed with my embellished story about my "brother", "Do you think we can just drop everything any time one of our family members gets the sniffles?"

"This isn't the sniffles! And I know for a fact that he wouldn't have called me if he didn't need me!" That was an understatement. I hadn't heard from him in almost a year. I'd met him and his new live in girlfriend, Stacy, about a year ago at an infectious disease conference in Seattle. I hadn't seen him since but I'd gotten a couple of my journal articles with his "suggestions for improvement" attached.

Stacy and I, however, still kept in touch. I liked her because she was, in a way, like me. She didn't take no for an answer and she was headstrong, firm in her ways. She matched my own sarcasm with a wit of her own with often made me laugh and sometimes made me blush. We'd been emailing ever since the conference and were now rather close. I knew that she would take Greg's health matters into her own hands if she was given the opportunity. No matter how much she loved him, she wasn't educated enough to make any sort of serious decisions about his life without consulting a doctor, preferably one who he had a background with, first. That was probably why he'd asked for me.

"Are you listening to me Johnson?" I looked up and shook my head.

"No, sorry, I was just thinking about where to send my resume since I seem to be so disposable." Dr. Martin's cheeks turned a funny shade of purple and he launched out of his chair. I thought he was going to leap at me and I took a step back. No harm in being cautious.

"If you think that you can talk to the Dean of Medicine in such a sarcastic tone, you'll never get another job. Not even at McDonalds. I'll make sure of it."

I took a deep breath and a second to think about the situation. I had to go to Princeton; that much was clear. I just needed to figure out how to convince Dean Martin.

I looked at the floor and wiped the smirk, that I hadn't noticed until that very moment, off my face, "Look, I need to go see my brother." I stressed the word brother, hoping it would give him the impression that we were really close, "I'm the only doctor in the family and they don't know what's wrong. I could be saving his life." I looked up and gave Dr. Martin a pained look, "I only need a week, two at the most. If he dies-"

I looked back at the floor and silently prayed that I would be rewarded for good acting, "Well, Dr. Johnson, if you didn't do such fabulous research I wouldn't even be considering this. You're rude, disrespectful, and you're extremely good with viruses. Go, you have your week. Keep me updated."

I looked up at him and tried to smile sadly, I was losing my touch though, "Thank you." I pretended to be in a hurry and rushed out of the room, heading for the front door.

The airplane ride from Berkley to Trenton was the most excruciating thing I've ever experienced. I don't know why I was so worried. What had Greg ever done for me? He'd tossed me aside after three months, deciding he didn't like knowing all the "intimate details of my inner workings", and then we'd lost contact. Until now, that is. He either really needed me or whatever he had was causing personality changes. Either way, I was more nervous than I'd been in a long time.

I walked into Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and immediately began to gawk. This hospital was much nicer than the shabby one I worked in. I'd have to drop off a resume before I left. I could use an atmosphere change.

I used the directions given to me by Dr. Cuddy and made my way toward the patient rooms, up the elevator, out and to the left. I stopped a few feet short and stared. Stacy was sitting in the waiting area, chewing her nails and reading some sort of file. She looked different than she had a year ago, older, like she had aged five years instead of just one.

I took a deep breath and hiked my laptop bag up in my shoulder, walking over and sitting down next to her, "Hi Stacy. It's been a while."

She looked up with a confused expression on her face and then smiled, the lines around her eyes becoming more prominent before fading with her smile, "Rita. Thank God you're here. He's been yelling at me to get a hold of you for the last three days."

I smiled back and cleared my throat nervously, "What's going on? Dr. Cuddy wouldn't tell me."

"Of course not, Greg said you wouldn't come if she did and he made it seem as though if you didn't come he wouldn't let any of us do anything. He's in a lot of pain Rita." I gave her a blank look and waited for a diagnosis, "The doctors say there's an infarction in his right leg. They want to amputate it but he won't let anyone touch it. We don't know what to do and the pain is getting worse."

I ran a hand through my already tousled hair and sighed. Infarction was a bad word for those of us who used our legs, especially if it had taken his doctor three days to find it. I made a note to find out who his attending was and punch them in the face.

Stacy looked up at his door and sighed along with me, "You can probably go in. He isn't sleeping because of the pain. I just came out here to give him a break." That was a lie, even I could tell. He'd yelled at her and then ignored her until she gave up and left.

I put my hand on her shoulder and tried to smile honestly, "I'll do whatever I can to help." Standing up, I made my way to the room, bracing myself for the worst.

Once in the room, I noticed that Stacy had been wrong. He was sleeping, or at least resting. I tiptoed as best I could and glanced at his heart monitor and the other machinery that littered the room. He was stable but his heart rate was high. Stacy was right; he was in quite a bit of pain.


	5. No Clearance Required

A/N: Hullo. Sorry for the cut off in the last chapter. I decided that it was actually an okay way to end, since you basically already know what happens to House... we're just still in the dark about Rita. This chapter is sort... I'm sorry. But another one should come tonight or at the latest, tomorrow. Review please!

Disclaimer: Pfft... I wish.

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"Hello? My name is Doctor Rita Johnson. I'm with the Special Pathogens Branch of the Center for Disease Control. I'm trying to get a hold of Dr. Henry Macintosh." I'd spent the better part of the morning trying to track down our superior, Dr. Macintosh, in America. I needed his clearance before I could even think about leaving Germany. I knew how to get it, as long as I could talk to him.

"I'll put you through to his office. I'm not sure he's there but I'll transfer you anyway." The secretary was nice enough. At least she didn't question my title.

There was a long pause and then Henry's voice finally reached my ear, "Rita? What's going on? Is there a problem?"

"Thank goodness, Henry! I've been trying to get a hold of you all morning. I need to ask a favor." I sat down in my office chair, tired from pacing most of the morning.

"Well it's evening here, Dr. Johnson. I was just about to walk out the door. What is going on?" He sounded rushed, like he couldn't wait to get home to the kids.

"I'm sorry sir. I'll make this quick. A friend of mine, Dr. Gregory House, faxed me a file last night. He thinks he has a VHF case and he wants me to come check it out. He says it's urgent. I need your clearance before I can leave Germany." I spun around in my chair and chewed on my lip. I was hoping that, in his rush, Dr. Macintosh wouldn't think too much about this decision and just let me go.

"Gregory House, I know that name. Where is he at?" Uh oh, I was counting on the fact that Henry didn't seem to know very many doctors outside of the CDC.

"He's at Princeton-Plainsboro, sir. By the look of this file I'd say I need to get on a plane immediately, and I'll need another team member to meet me there." I was pushing him, trying to hurry him into a yes.

"House, eh? Oh! I remember him now. He has a bad reputation around here, Rita." There was a pause and I held my breath, praying for a yes, "I really need you there in Germany. We could have a new filiovirus emerging in those monkeys and you're the best I have. I'll send two team members that are already here. I'm sure it's nothing; definitely nothing to waste your time with."

I stood up and stomped my foot in protest, "But Dr. Macintosh-"

"Let me know if there are any new developments Europe-side. I'll be in touch and I'll let you know what the team finds out in Princeton." He hung up before I could say anything else and, after staring at the phone for a good thirty seconds, I threw the receiver down in exasperation.

I sat down in my desk chair and dropped my head into my hands. How dare he just pass me off like that! I was his most valued virologist. I was the only one in the SPB with a triple specialty. He needed me more than I needed him! I could get a job anywhere.

I picked up the phone again and dialed an extension. Waiting for my assistant to answer I chewed my nails, this was a bold move I was about to make. I had to make sure I was doing the right thing. I'd jumped to Greg's aid once before like this and it only bit me in the butt later on. I needed to sit down and think about this.

"This is Ana." I absentmindedly wondered what took her so long to answer.

"Hey Ana, I need you to do me a favor." I spun around again and tried not to get giddy with excitement, "I need you to book me a one way ticket to Princeton, New Jersey. Make sure it's the earliest flight."

"Sure Rita. Do you have clearance from Dr. Macintosh?" I stood up and grabbed my bag, throwing my computer and some files into it and listening to her talk at the same time.

"Nope, but this is an emergency. I'll drop my credit card with you on the way out. This is just a friend asking a friend for a favor, nothing else." I hung up on her and checked the room, grabbing my bag I made my way for the door.

I closed the door behind me and pulled my credit card out of my wallet, making a note that I would owe Ana after this. I made my way for her office and dropped my card on her desk smiling my thanks before bolting out the door to do some serious packing.

Before I could take a deep breath, I was on another plane. It seemed like I was on planes a lot lately. This time, I was running straight towards everything I wanted to run away from. My whole point in going to Germany was to get away from my feelings. I wanted to run away from the only thing that I had no control over. I was tired of being out of control. I was leaving the safety of distance and facing my worst fear, Greg House.


	6. Up the Elevator and to the Right

A/N: I promised you another chapter in one night and I did it! This one is exceptionally longer than the last one too. I'm proud of myself. Please review... it's the only way I have of knowing if I'm doing this right or not.

Disclaimer: I own a car, a laptop, and a small college trust fund. Nothing else.

* * *

I glanced through the file Greg had faxed to me while chewing a peanut on my thirteen hour flight from Berlin to New York City. The patient was a twenty-five year old male and had been admitted complaining of headaches, backaches, and a severe sore throat. Apparently, he had gone to their free clinic, where a Dr. Wilson had seen him. He was admitted after his 103 degree fever was discovered. As of eight hours ago the patient had added cough, pain in the chest, and diarrhea to his list of symptoms.

I put the folder back in my bag and sat back in my chair, mulling it over. If this was indeed a hemorrhagic fever, it was still in the early stages. This could just as easily be a common virus or Legionnaires Disease. In fact, I hoped it was something so simple. Any sort of hemorrhagic fever could spell disaster for the whole hospital. Closing my eyes, I decided to put off any serious thought on the topic until I could talk to everyone myself.

I awoke just as the plane was landing. I looked out at the airstrip and sighed, 'Welcome to America,' I thought to myself. I struck me as odd that I could just as easily be in one country one minute and in another the next as I could change rooms in my own apartment.

I grabbed my bags and rented a car, happy to drive from New York to Princeton. Checking to make sure I had my map, I made my way to my assigned car. The whole drive took me about an hour and a half, and I was happy to listen to my music in relative peacefulness. It was late at night by the time I reached the Princeton city limits and I decided to crash at a hotel for the night before making my way to the hospital the next morning.

My alarm went off at 7:30 and I felt like I had slept in sandpaper. I'd slept about four hours and, adding the three from the flight, hadn't gotten enough sleep to be conducive of any sort of diagnosis. Getting out of bed, I mentally crossed my fingers and hoped this guy wasn't too sick. It took me an hour to shower and get ready. I took longer than normal on my hair and make-up and, at one point, had to stop and berate myself for acting like a teenage girl. I really needed to control myself.

Throwing my laptop into my rental car I jumped in and looked at my map once more before starting it and heading off towards Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. I hadn't been here in nine years but it seemed as if not much had changed. I parked in a designated visitor parking spot and made my way to the front door. I knew where I was going this time and, after my long conversation with Lisa Cuddy the day before, I was headed towards the Dean of Medicine's office.

I pulled open the door to their free clinic and smiled to myself. It had been a long time since I'd been in an American hospital and even longer since I'd worked in one. The last hospital I'd worked in had been in Africa and I tried not to remember that one. I glanced through the window into Lisa's inner office and noted that she looked angry about something. However, she was alone, so I knocked and entered after her invitation.

Lisa stood up and smiled, although it didn't quite make it to her eyes, "Rita! It's been a long time. How are you?" She held out her hand and I took it, shaking it politely.

"It has and I'm doing okay. I'm just curious to see what all the excitement is about." She motioned for me to sit down and I did. I was eager to see Greg and the patient but I tried to mask my giddiness.

"Excitement is an understatement. I just got off the phone with Dr. Macintosh, at the CDC. He said that I should tell you to call him immediately. He sounded angry." Lisa gave me a knowing look and I just looked at the floor. We'd gotten to know each other well enough when I was here during Greg's surgery for the infarction in his leg. She knew about my history with him and my inability to control my feelings towards him.

"I'll call him today, I promise. I left without clearance. He probably wants to fire me." I stood up and smiled down at her, "I'm going to go find Greg, if you don't mind. I'm eager to see this patient and if he's right we won't have much time before treatment becomes a non-option."

Lisa stood up and smoothed out her skirt, "Of course. Would you like me to go up there with you? Do you remember where it is?"

I shook my head and tried to look relaxed, "I remember. I'll be fine. Thanks Lisa."

"No problem. Listen, Rita, people say he's changed since the infarction and Stacy but I don't think he has. He's still the same Greg, there are just more walls." I nodded and turned for the door, ready to face my fears.

'Up the elevator and to the right,' I thought to myself. The last time I was here, I'd memorized this hospital and I couldn't remember why. Before I knew it I was standing outside his office door. He wasn't inside but further inspection led me to find him in a conference room next door with three younger doctors. They were talking about something but I couldn't understand what. I opened the door to his office and walked in, happy to wait for them to finish. I glanced around and noticed some things that hadn't changed. Maybe Lisa was right. Maybe he was the same old Greg.

"Rita Johnson." He opened the adjoining door to the conference room and entered his office. This was the first time that I had seen him with the cane. I wanted to run away and hug him at the same time.

I opened my mouth to make some witty statement but nothing would come. I must have looked awfully dumb, standing there with my mouth open. He didn't say anything though, and just limped over to his desk and sat down with a sigh.

"It took you long enough. Did you walk from Germany?"

He expected me to say something smart, something that would make him smile, or at least get that funny smirk he used when he wanted to look macho. I couldn't think of anything. My brain had become a giant scrambled egg and I couldn't feel my feet anymore. It was like I'd grown roots.

He looked up at me and gave me a questioning look, "Are you going to faint? I'm sorry to say that I won't be catching you if you faint."

"Greg-" I had to stop and remember to breathe, "You look…" I trailed off and just stared at him.

"Spare me the formalities. It hasn't been that long." He pointed to a chair and then opened the file sitting in front of him, "Twenty-five year old male-"

"Yeah, nine years is nothing to us young kids." I almost sighed out loud, I thought I'd lost my sarcasm but almost as easily as it was lost, it was found.

He looked up at me and smirked and then I did sigh. Sitting down, I rubbed my forehead and tried to focus on the window behind his head.

"As I was saying, twenty-five year old male presents with fever, aches, and diarrhea. He is now sitting at a 104 degree temperature and he's already blown chunks on a nurse and Wilson."

"He's vomiting? Is it just stomach contents or is there blood? Tissue? Who's Wilson?" I leaned forward in my chair and I could swear he smiled at me.

"There's the Rita I was looking for. Yes, there was some blood but no tissue yet, and Wilson is our local oncologist boy wonder. You'll be meeting him soon." I leaned back again and thought. Wilson had to be the only person in Greg's life that I didn't know.

"I need a better history of the patient than the one I have. Has he been traveling? The only way this could be hemorrhagic is if he's been to an affected area. Africa is the only one where he could get it by accident. I need to know if he's been there, where, when, and what he did."

I made a move to stand up and he held up a hand, smirking again, "I figured you'd want to do that catch up thing first but if you're so eager to visit the patient I'm sure he's not doing anything important, other than dying that is."

I leaned back again and tried to relax, "Oh, of course, what am I doing? It's not like he's going anywhere. I guess I'm just used to doing this in the field."

Greg rolled his eyes and shut the file, dropping it on his desk, "That's what Africa does, it ruins people. You come back to the real world and suddenly you can't work without thinking about the poor starving children."

I started to glare and then just shook my head. I'd forgotten how he sounded sometimes. This was just Greg protecting himself.

"Every time I see a baby…" I pretended to tear up and put my head in my hands.

He laughed at me and, after a second of awkward silence, I dropped the big question, "How are you, Greg?"

I made a note to look at him and really see him. The lines on his face were more prominent and I was sure that I looked just as haggard, if not more. He had frown lines on his forehead and I could tell that he didn't smile much. The only thing that hadn't changed was the azure blue of his eyes. The ever unchanging eyes that made many a woman swoon. Those eyes were the most expressive eyes I'd ever seen.

He held my eye contact for a minute and then sighed, looking down, "I'm alive."

I frowned but decided not to push, after all, we hadn't seen each other in nine years, "Me too, House. Me too."


	7. Fever Dream

A/N: I am so proud of myself. I have NEVER gotten this far on a story. And I'm ready to write more! I might actually finish this one (knock on wood!). Please review. I've posted 7 chapters and only one reader, Laniki whom I am a huge fan of, has actually reviewed. I appreciate being added to the Story Alert lists but that doesn't help me write this thing.

Disclaimer: Rita lives in my brain. House only lives in my television. Clearly I only own one of the two.

* * *

"She's his medical proxy, Rita. There isn't anything you or I can do. I think she's making the right decision here. You know House; he's going to dispute anything we decide. " I was sitting in the waiting room with Lisa Cuddy. Every now and then I glanced into Greg's room and watched Stacy with wary eyes.

"You're right. I do know him, better than most of you, possibly better than Stacy. I know that sometimes, he just knows. If he wants to do it this way, we should try it. Believe me, I know the risks but I know the good that could come out of it too. If he loses that leg…" I trailed off and glanced into the room for the hundredth time. Sighing, I looked at the floor. I knew that this argument wouldn't stand up with Stacy. A hunch was a hunch.

"You're trying to convince the wrong person, Rita. Stacy is the one you need to be talking to. He's set up to go in at three. You have two hours." Lisa stood up and looked down at me, "She's making the right choice, Rita. He can be wrong, you know." She walked away and left me feeling sour and nauseous.

I think I sat in that chair for a full hour before remembering where I was and what I was doing there. I looked back into Greg's room and noticed that Stacy wasn't there anymore. He was sleeping peacefully in his chemically induced coma and I decided to take advantage of the time alone with him and check in.

I walked into his room and glanced at the monitor. His heart rate was slightly elevated but otherwise all was normal. He'd been through a lot in the last few days and this was the most at peace that he had looked in a long time. I sat down in the chair next to his bed and put my hand on his. His fingers were slightly chilly and I squeezed gently. I wondered if coma patients were really aware of their surroundings like many people claimed they were.

"Greg," I paused and glanced around my shoulder, stage whispering just in case Stacy were to intrude, "whatever happens after this minute, I just want you to know that I'll always be on your side. I can't control what happens to you now, that's Stacy's job, but I can tell you that I'll always be here for you. I never stopped loving you not even after you left me."

I jumped out of my seat when I heard Stacy clear her throat behind me. I jumped up and let go of Greg, turning to face her. She had a look on her face which I never forgot. I'd never imagined Stacy to be the jealous type but at that moment she looked like she was ready to strangle me.

I took a tiny step back and looked at her defiantly, "I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. Don't you know it's rude to interrupt two friends?"

"They're ready to take him into surgery." Her flat monotone made me shiver inadvertently.

I sidestepped out of the room and back into the waiting room. I was ready to flee the scene now that I'd just poured my heart out to a comatose man. I grabbed my back and looked back at the room. Two men were wheeling his bed out of the room and Stacy followed behind. She gave me a look in passing which said, 'you better not be here when I get back'. I took her advice and high tailed it to the cafeteria, content to wait the 5 hours or so there.

* * *

I woke up in a cold sweat and glanced at the hotel room clock. It was three A.M. and I'd barely slept all night. I couldn't believe I was letting this get to me. Honestly, I thought I was over all of this long ago. I leaned over and grabbed my plastic cup of water off the bedside table, taking a big gulp and setting it back down. I kicked the comforter off myself and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling.

Eight o'clock came sooner than I thought it would. I got about two more hours of sleep before my alarm went off. The Who's Baba O'Reilly came through the speakers of the clock radio and I almost threw a pillow at it before remembering I was in a hotel and would have to pay for any damages. I rolled out of bed and went through my average morning routine.

I arrived at the hospital at nine-thirty and was ready to start a day of tests and diagnoses. I had ordered an enzyme-linked immunosorbent serologic assay from our patient and was excited to take a look at the results today. They would tell me if it was indeed hemorrhagic or not. My best guess as to which fever it could be had to be Lassa. The arenavirus, Lassa, was one that affected West Africa. The man said he had been to Nigeria on a mission trip. Apparently he was very active in his church and often left the country to help those in need. I thought it was admirable, Greg thought it was idiotic. The man, his name was Vince, was progressing at an average rate for Lassa fever and I was nearly convinced that Greg was right.

I walked into Greg's office to find his three fellows running in circles. They were panicked and it was an almost laughable scene. Cameron, the only girl and the one who I understood least, was pacing and biting her nails. Chase and Foreman were both sitting at the table, one tapping his fingers in an annoying manner and the other tapping his foot.

"Hello there. What's going on?" I dropped my bag on a chair and gave them all separate looks of confusion.

Cameron was the first to answer, "Dr. Wilson caught it."

I raised my eyebrows and frowned, not understanding, "Caught what? Dr. Wilson, wasn't he the one who first saw our supposed Lassa patient?"

Foreman answered this time, in a much calmer manner, "The patient threw up on Wilson the day before yesterday. He didn't think much of it at the time but now he's showing symptoms."

Cameron sat down roughly and I looked back to her. She was visibly worried and I wondered why she always had to get her panties tied in knots over everything.

I looked back to Foreman, "Alright, is he in an isolation room too?"

"Yeah, House is with him now. We were told to wait for you." Chase answered this time and stood up as he did, "Now that you're here I guess we can do something."

I took a minute to process the information. House was here in the morning? I was told that he almost never showed up before ten. I took my jacket off and hung it over the back of the chair my bag was in.

Nodding I motioned to the rest of them, "I need to get to the lab and look at the tests from yesterday. I'll be able to tell if it's Lassa now and we'll be able to come up with some sort of idea of how to handle this."

Cameron stood up and walked over to me, "If you don't mind, I'm going to go down to isolation and check on Wilson. Just to make sure everything is set up."

I shrugged, "Sure, do what you need to do to make yourself feel better. Let me know when you decide to do something productive."

She gaped at me and I smirked. Frowning, she stormed out of the room. Foreman and Chase just laughed and, with a small flourish, Chase opened the door and led me to the lab with Foreman in tow.

After fifteen minutes of prep and analyzing I had decided upon my diagnosis. It was, indeed, Lassa fever, "I need you guys to start him on a Ribavirin for the fever. Better start Dr. Wilson on it too. I'm worried that Vince is too far along to be treated so we'll need to at least keep his fluids up and make sure he's comfortable. If he is, indeed, too far along, it's going to get messy, fast. Wilson, on the other hand, should be just fine. I'm going to go check on them and let them know."

I handed the printout to Foreman and walked out, firm in my diagnosis. Lassa was messy but it wasn't generally fatal. Ebola or Marburg would have been much worse. Lassa only killed 15 of its victims. I took the stairs down to the isolation ward and walked toward Cameron and Greg, smiling.

Greg was the first to bite, "You look awfully happy. Maybe you should turn around; this is where the sick people live. Happy doesn't happen here."

"Happy happens when the sick people aren't going to be sick for much longer." I stopped in front of Wilson's room and saw him standing in a hospital gown and scrub pants. This was the first time I'd seen him.

"Hi there, I'm Rita Johnson. I'm sure you've heard all about me." A threw him a small smile and wave, noting his flushed look and the way he was standing, he was in pain, "Want to tell me what hurts?"

Dr. Wilson, who was clearly used to Greg and therefore used to the way he talked, didn't even flinch, "I have a 101 degree fever, my back hurts, and it hurts to breathe. Also, I'm vomiting blood every so often."

I raised my eyebrows and gave him a slightly shocked look, "That's interesting. The vomiting usually doesn't come until later. Guess you must be an oddball."

He shrugged and I smiled again, "You have, what us virologists, epidemiologists, and infectologists, like to call the Lassa virus. You should be able to recover. Your counterpart, on the other hand, is in the orange zone. His fate is up to the virus."

I smiled at Wilson again and he threw me a pained smile, "You should lie down or something. At least get comfortable. It's going to take a couple of days for you to feel any better. In fact, you might get worse before you feel better. You and I are going to be good friends by the time this is over."

I walked over to the next room, looking in the window and frowning. Vince was asleep and he looked pretty bad. I decided I needed to suit up and go in to check on him. Wondering where the boys were with that Ribavirin, I began to suit up to enter the level four room.

Vince was bleeding internally and, unfortunately, there wasn't much we could do to help him. The Lassa had already started to destroy his organ systems and at this rate, the Ribavirin wasn't going to help much. As I was palpitating Vince's abdomen, Chase knocked on the window and passed a bag of, what I could assume was a form of Ribavirin, through to me.

I walked over to get it and he frowned at me, "That's Rebetol. How's he doing?"

I shook my head and gave him a somber look, "Not good. I need someone to give him more saline and he probably needs round the clock surveillance. He'll bleed out in the next day or so."

Chase nodded and I turned to set Vince up with the Rebetol. After getting everything squared away and checking Vince one more time, I unsuited and left the room, heading for the hallway where Greg still stood.

"Prognosis?" He didn't look at me, choosing to stare at Vince instead.

"Not good. He won't make it." I looked over at Wilson's room at noticed that he was at least lying down now, "Your friend on the other hand, should be fine."

Greg gave me a look at limped away. I watched him go and wanted to chase after him. I wanted to slap him and tell him to stop trying to save everyone. I wanted to scream at him. He wasn't Superman.

I turned back to Vince and sighed, "Good luck."


	8. Call Me James

A/N: For some reason I feel like Wilson is really OC in this chapter. Let me know if you agree or not... especially if you know how to fix it. Also... at the end... I used James because I really hate Jim and Jimmy... it just doesn't sound like Wilson. So there.

Disclaimer: Rita is my own... the rest I'm just borrowing.

* * *

The isolation room was quiet and dim. It gave me the environment I needed to spend a few good hours thinking. I needed to figure out a way to take care of the growing CDC problem. Dr. Macintosh had called the hospital a good ten times in the last day and a half and now, at three AM, I was sure he was sitting awake in his home office, wondering why in the hell I wasn't calling back.

Honestly, I wasn't calling back because I didn't want to hear the answer. I was regretting coming all the way to New Jersey to treat something as unexciting as Lassa fever. It was a predictable move though; I'd always jumped to Greg's aid before. I couldn't understand why I was so quick to jump to his aid. Normally I would have guessed which fever it was and sent one of the lackeys.

A knock on the glass between the rooms startled me and I spun around. Dr. Wilson was standing there with a sheepish look on his face. I stood up and walked over to him, hoping I could hear through the glass.

He raised his voice loudly enough that I could just barely hear him, "I'm feeling better. How is he?"

He gestured toward Vince and I shook my head. His lungs were failing now. Pleural fluid was leaking into them. He'd suffocate if he didn't bleed out soon. We had put him in a chemically induced coma because of the pain. Something had told me that he didn't want to be awake while his insides were disintegrating. I held up a finger and turned for the door. Vince wasn't going to go anywhere. I might as well go over and have a chat with Dr. Wilson. Lisa had told me that Wilson was Greg's best friend. I would probably like him too.

I unsuited and walked over to the entrance chamber to Wilson's room. I had to suit up again but I didn't mind. I'd been through these precautions so many times I could almost do it while juggling. Wilson watched me move and it made me a little uncomfortable. I almost put the protective pants on backwards.

I walked in and immediately went to check the machines he was hooked up to, "How are you feeling? Are you weak, tired, in any pain? Are you still vomiting? Coughing?"

When he didn't answer I turned around to look at him. He was laughing at me!

"You're exactly like he said you'd be. I feel better, really." I raised my eyebrows and gave him a shocked look. He just laughed at me.

"Glad I can provide entertainment. I didn't know I was so good at it. Guess I picked the wrong field." I turned back to the machines and checked his Ribovirin bag.

Dr. Wilson came up behind me, "He also told me that you'd do everything in your power to avoid a social confrontation with me. He didn't tell me that you were this good at it."

I turned around and frowned at him, although he couldn't see it for the mask I had to wear, "I'm going to have to thank Greg for giving you fair warning. He never did that for me."

Wilson chuckled and held out his hand, "We haven't been formally introduced. I'm James Wilson."

I inadvertently smiled at him, I made a note that his smiles were contagious and I'd have to be careful, "Rita Johnson, not so local Epidemiologist, Virologist, and Infectologist."

He shook my hand and looked a little surprised, "You have three specialties? Where'd you find the time for that?"

I shrugged and let my hand fall, it felt a little funny and I wondered why, "It's a long story. I have a great photographic memory. It made learning easy. I got through college and med school pretty quickly."

I turned back to the machinery and fiddled with his IV bag, "If you feel anything at all, you need to let me know. Because you have Lassa in your system you're more susceptible to other diseases."

"The only thing I feel is bored and lonely. I'm not used to being stuck in a tiny room for hours at a time. Honestly, I just wanted you to come over here so you'd keep me company." He sighed and sat down on the bed, "I'm sure you're busy and need to get back to the other guy."

"His name is Vince, in case you were wondering. And he's dying. There isn't anything to do but watch him die." I turned to look through the window at Vince, "Greg is beating himself up because he didn't think to call me in time. It's not his fault though. The Lassa tore through this guy faster than normal. Greg won't believe that though." I stared at Vince and sighed. It always put a damper on things when you lost a patient.

"No, he won't, but it's nice that you tried and he knows that." I turned around and gave Wilson a sarcastic look, "What? I'm serious."

I laughed softly and turned back to Vince, "That doesn't make it any better."

We fell into silence after that and, before I knew it, I'd been standing there for a good ten minutes. I turned around to look at Dr. Wilson and found him looking at me with a melancholy look on his face.

I gave him a questioning look and he started, I guess he forgot he was looking at me, "Oh, uh, there aren't any chairs in here but if you want you can sit next to me. I promise I won't infect you."

I laughed and he scooted over to make room for me, "Thanks. You know, it's really nice here. I like this hospital a lot. This is the second time I've been here and it hasn't changed a bit. It's a lot nicer than any of our facilities. Then again, we only have to impress monkeys."

"Yeah, I like it a lot. The people here are nice, apart from House, and the job is good." As I listened to him I realized how awkward I felt. I was sitting there, next to this doctor I hardly knew, in an isolation room in Princeton, New Jersey. Even better, the guy next to me had Lassa Fever. I felt like I was going crazy.

I looked over to him and remembered I was wearing the mask, "If you promise not to cough on me I'll take this thing off." I motioned to the mask and tried to smile.

He held up three fingers and grinned at me, "Scouts honor."

I laughed at him and pulled the mask off. Still grinning, I stood up and threw the mask into the bio bin, "You're an oncologist, right?"

He dropped his hand and nodded, "Let me guess, you want to know how I can work with cancer patients and still get up in the morning?"

I shook my head at him and he gave me a surprised look, "I wanted to know how you kept from getting bored. Cancer is interesting but unexciting."

He laughed again and I found myself smiling, damn that contagious smile, "Somehow, I find a way to cope. What about you? You don't deal with real people? Isn't working in the lab kind of boring?"

"It can be. Greg used to tell me that any man I loved would have to share my love with a virus. He thought I would never love anyone as unconditionally has I love Filoviruses." I sat back down, this time facing him. I was getting comfortable in that small glass room.

"Filioviruses, huh? That's Ebola, right?" I gave him a surprised look and he chuckled, "That disease always fascinated me. The way it kills its victims is animalistic. It's almost beautiful."

"You sound like me!" I grinned and he grinned back. I knew I'd found a friend in this jungle of a hospital.

"I think I understand your love for viruses. They're smart, ever changing, and totally unpredictable; sounds pretty good to me."

I nodded and looked at the floor, "I wish every man understood it."

Wilson gave me a concerned look but didn't say anything. I appreciated that. Before I could think of a sentence to change the topic with there was the loud sound of a cane hitting the glass. I looked up and scowled, he had come at a bad time. I couldn't see Wilson's face from behind me but I could feel the death glare coming from him.

I stood up and headed for the door, "I'd better go and see what he wants. You page me if you start to feel worse. I'll be back later, Dr. Wilson."

"James." I turned around and gave him a confused look, "Call me James."


	9. Wilson Sick

A/N: Heylo! So sorry this one is short. I promise... two chapters tonight. After all... it is Friday! I appreciate the reviews and I get really excited when I get them. Please keep reviewing!! I need the help!

Disclaimer: No.

* * *

My beeper went off at one o'clock in the morning and I looked up from the medical journal I was reading, purely confused. I had asked only to be contacted if something monumental was going on. I was sure that the nurses of Princeton-Plainsboro understood what that meant.

I reached over and grabbed the beeper off the bedside table. It didn't say much, just two words.

_Wilson sick._

I figured Greg had sent it, but I could have been wrong. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. I wasn't sleeping anyway; I might as well go over to the hospital and check it out. Changing my clothes and putting on some shoes, I hurried out the door and to my rental car. I made a mental note to call the rental company after the sun rose. The car was due tomorrow and if Wilson really was getting sick, I'd need to extend the rental. I'd have to extend my stay at the hotel too. I silently prayed that I could afford to stay in the hotel another week. I didn't think I could.

Finally reaching the hospital, I went straight for Wilson's room. I was only mildly concerned. He'd probably just picked up an infection or something. He'd gotten a cold a week ago and now it was coming full force since his immune system was so busy.

Greg was standing outside the window, looking in with a deeply concerned look on his face. I walked up next to him and looked in the room. I was shocked at the amount of people inside. There were three nurses, fully suited, and Drs. Chase and Foreman were all standing in full biohazard gear in Dr. Wilson's room. Wilson was laying on the bed, relatively still. He was conscious, I could tell, but only barely. A nurse was carrying bloody sheets over to a biohazard bag and another was disposing of, what I had to assume was, bloody vomit. I couldn't see his monitors very well but I knew it couldn't be good.

Greg didn't say anything to me so I moved to go suit up and go into the room. He grabbed my arm before I could go, "I thought you said he was going to be fine."

I paused and turned back around, surveying the situation, "I'm sure this is nothing to worry about. We'll figure it out. I'll get some samples and run an ELISA and a RT-PCR if I have to."

He let go but never turned to look at me, "You do that."

I sighed but didn't say anything, choosing to go suit up and do my job instead. I went through the chamber as fast as I could, taking all the precautions. If his Lassa was flaring up I didn't want to be around to catch it. I put on the three layers of gloves required and taped them to my protective gown.

I almost ran into the room once I was done dressing, "What's going on? When did this start?"

Dr. Chase looked up at me from the blood he was drawing and then back down, "About two hours ago. The nurses have changed his sheets twice now. Foreman and I were paged the first time and we started testing. We thought you'd already gotten the Lassa. Clearly, we were wrong."

I shook my head and looked at his monitors. He had a temperature of 102 and nearly everything was elevated. I went over and stood over Wilson, putting my hand on his forehead and brushing the hair back. He was sweating and every couple of minutes he would squirm and moan. I concluded that he was suffering from abdominal pain and a mild headache.

"We did get the Lassa. There has never been a recorded case of Lassa that didn't respond to the Ribovirin treatment. Either this isn't Lassa and the tests were wrong, or this is a Lassa mutation." I looked over to Foreman, "Run an ELISA on Wilson's blood and just to be safe, do a RT-PCR too. Let's hope this isn't Lassa, because if it's a mutation I can almost guarantee he's going to die before we can help him."

A loud bang behind me made me jump and I whirled around in time to see Greg storming away. Foreman and Chase both sighed and Chase finished drawing the blood. The nurses left the room and I was left with the two younger doctors and a sleeping Wilson.

Foreman and Chase started to leave, "Oh, guys! Take every precaution. If this is a mutation, I don't need you guys getting it too. Everything in the room is biohazard. We have to double gown and double glove, especially when handling the blood. I want only a select few able to enter the room. Two nurses, you guys, Cameron, Greg, and myself. No one else is allowed entry until I say so, alright?"

The two doctors nodded and left the room. I turned, once again, to Wilson and was struck with a sudden feeling of panic. Six hours ago I had been in this room, chatting with Wilson about trivial things. I'd noted that he seemed better, and then suddenly he was worse. It didn't make any sense.

There was a small stool on wheels in the corner. I grabbed it and pulled it over to his bedside, sitting down and gazing at his heart monitor again. I sighed and tried to remember everything I'd ever learned about the Lassa virus. I was tired and I couldn't think.

Wilson moaned and turned over onto his side, facing me. I looked over him and felt an extreme sense of concern. I reached out and put my hand over his, trying to lend some sort of comfort. His heart monitor beeped slightly faster. That was odd; then again, my heart was beating faster too. I was genuinely scared for him.


	10. Nightmares in Isolation

A/N: I promised two chapters in one night and here I am, delivering. I decided it was time for another flashback eye opener. Who's shocked? You shouldn't be. Please review. Those things make the world go 'round.

Disclaimer: Bah! In my dreams.

* * *

I was digging through a cardboard box, desperately trying to find a tiny piece of my past, "What are you doing, Rita?"

He startled me and I turned around, throwing the lid over the box and pushing it behind me, "Just looking."

He smirked and walked over to where I was sitting, making a scene of looking behind my back, "Nice box."

"You think so? Amanda said it was passé but I told her it was vintage." I pushed the box back into the closet and stood up, "When did you get back?"

"Two minutes ago and counting, did you make dinner?"

I looked and my watch and blanched, it was seven o'clock, "Shit, no. I was all wrapped up-"

"In looking, huh?" He laughed and held up the phone, "I called for takeout. The guy said he'd bring it over for us."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and smiled sheepishly, "Sorry. I know I promised I would. Guess I just lost track of time."

I pulled him into a hug and he grinned at me, "Its okay. I guess you missed me, huh?"

I looked up at him and pretended to be offended, "Oh please! You think I'm that attached to you?"

"Actually, yes, I do." He held my arms and looked at me. I guess I passed muster because he let go and turned to leave.

"Greg." I flexed my hands, something I did when I was nervous.

He turned back around and looked at me curiously, "Yeah?"

I looked at the floor and was silent for a second, silently panicking. I was about to do something I'd either regret or appreciate for the rest of my life. Slowly, I looked up at him and his look softened, he was concerned. I took two giant steps forward and, putting my hands on either side of his face, took the plunge.

I kissed him.

At first he was shocked, I think, and he didn't respond. When I started to pull away he put his arms around me and pulled me closer, kissing back. I felt like the world had exploded and we were the only people left standing. Time stopped and for one measly moment, I was really happy.

* * *

I jolted awake, and fell off the stool. I had been lying in a precarious position, sitting on the stool but with my arms and head lying on the end of Dr. Wilson's bed. I was covered in a sheen of sweat and grime and I felt truly awful.

I looked over at Dr. Wilson and decided that I looked better than he did at the moment. He was pale and sweaty and his face was construed into a look of pain. I checked his temperature and it had risen a degree. I looked up at the wall clock and noticed that it was six in the morning now. I stood up and, pulling my hair into a ponytail, I made my way out of the room and upstairs to find Greg and the rest of the doctors and get the results of my test.

I'd left my bag with my laptop, phone, keys, and beeper in the bio chamber. When I pulled my phone out, I noticed that I'd missed two calls. One was from my boss, Dr. Macintosh, and the other was from Jack. I mentally kicked myself. I'd forgotten all about Jack! He was probably in a total frenzy wondering what was going on. He was just that kind of guy.

I decided that I should get it over with and call Dr. Macintosh first. So, as I bought a cup of coffee and settled myself at a table in the cafeteria, I dialed his number and waited for his answer.

"Doctor Macintosh."

"Hi, Henry, it's Rita Johnson." I took a sip and almost yelped. That coffee was hot!

"Rita! Good lord! I've been trying to get a hold of you for two days. You have no idea what trouble you've caused. Not only did you undermine my authority and make me look like a complete buffoon in front of my staff, you set Germany behind and left me without a lead in Europe. I can't believe you would do this to me!" I could almost picture his face. He'd be nearing purple now.

"I understand, Dr. Macintosh. But you have no idea what's going on here. Dr. House was right. He had a good case of Lassa. Unfortunately, he didn't catch it in time and the guy bled out. Before he died, the Lassa patient vomited on the head of oncology here and we're treating him for Lassa too. There've been some complications and we're still trying to figure it out. We could have a mutation on our hands. I'm going to need backup."

"That's where our problem is, Rita. I can't give you backup. I had to send two more, less qualified, virologists to Germany. I can't put up with your shenanigans anymore, Dr. Johnson. I've met with the board and we've decided to let you go. If you would have just complied and stayed in Germany, we wouldn't have a problem. We're sending your things from your office to your apartment in LA. I'm sorry it had to happen this way Rita."

"Wait, you're firing me?" I looked up and noticed Greg, making his way towards me, "You're _firing_ me?"

"I know this might come as a shock Dr. Johnson, but you need to learn when enough is enough. You can't make the rules here, it isn't your job. The CDC will be forever grateful for the work you put in with us and all the research you did but there is no way that we can afford a setback like this again."

"You're firing me because I came to help a colleague?" Greg was standing in front of me now and he looked genuinely shocked.

"I'm sorry Dr. Johnson. You'll have to excuse me; I have a meeting to get to. Let us know how it works out in Princeton."

"Henry, if you don't help me this doctor will die. You can't let that happen. Send people for him, not for me." Now Greg looked angry. He held his hand out and I shook my head at him. I had to do this on my own.

"I can't, Rita. We just don't have enough hands down here. Let me know if it starts to spread. If you get a full blown epidemic, then we can send people. Until then, I'm sorry."

"Henry!" He hung up before I could say anything. I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it.

Greg dropped his hand and leaned on his cane, "He wouldn't have hung up if you would have let me talk to him."

"No, he would have hung up on you before you could even say 'sick oncologist'. He hates you, Greg. He didn't want me to come because he doesn't like you. No one at the CDC likes you. In fact, I don't think anyone on the planet except the oncologist lying in the isolation ward likes you." I stormed away towards the parking lot before he could stop me. I was too angry to work and I needed a shower. I was going to go back to the hotel before someone commented on my BO.

"Rita!" He'd resorted to yelling at me.

I turned around and glared at him, he ignored me and kept yelling, "We can do this on our own. We don't need the CDC. They don't know what they're talking about anyway."

My glare softened and, as he turned around and limped to the elevators, I felt really bad. He didn't deserve to be yelled at. Not yet anyway.


	11. Tulips and Daisies

A/N: Here's another chapter. The Hotel isn't real... just a warning. I enjoyed writing this one and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. Please review.

Disclaimer: Nope.

* * *

I sat on a conveniently placed bench across from Greg's office. I was brooding and I think he was too. I watched him with a discontent look on my face and wondered if he knew I was there. He was sitting with his back to me, tossing his giant red tennis ball in the air, and staring out the window. I leaned back against the wall and tried to get comfortable. I didn't want to confront him too early. He'd get hostile if I didn't give him some time.

My phone buzzed and I picked it up, glancing at the screen and registering a number I didn't recognize, I answered it, "Dr. Johnson."

"Hello, my name is John; I'm with the Buxton Suites Hotel. I just wanted to let you know that your funds have been revoked and you either need to pay for tonight or check out." Shit, Macintosh had taken me out of the system faster than I thought he would have.

"Um, yeah, I'm busy now but I'll be sure to do that when I get a minute." I looked in my bag and fiddled with my wallet, trying to find my credit card.

"Well, just to let you know, check out time is two PM. You'll need to pay or be checked out by then; otherwise there is a thirty dollar fee." I tossed my wallet into my bag and sighed, I couldn't afford a thirty dollar fee. I couldn't even afford another night in the room.

"Alright, thank you." I hung up and put my phone back in my bag, deciding not to answer it again today. Every time I answered it, it was bad news.

I stood up and decided to brave confronting Greg. I needed to tell him that I was going to have to go back to California. I'd have to start looking for a job and, better yet, asking for money. I pulled the glass door open and he spun around to face me.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up." He put his ball back on his desk and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, I had some personal stuff to take care of." I sat down in a chair in front of his desk and tried to relax. Nothing was going my way.

"What? You forget about the dying guy in isolation?" He gave me a serious look and I felt like he was seeing right through me. I was trying to act macho about my situation but it was getting hard with him looking at me that way. I wanted to dissolve into a sobbing mess right there.

"No, I just lost my job. Now my hotel is telling me that, since the CDC isn't paying for it, I need to pay for my own room. I can't afford to pay for my own room. I can't afford anything." I rubbed my right eye and intercepted a couple of tears before they fell.

"I thought the CDC paid well, especially for their overqualified employees." He looked interested now and, as he lifted his leg to rest on his desk, I was sure I could see a hint of concern in his eyes.

"They do. I just never realized how expensive it was to pay a person to make your sister comfortable while she dies." I didn't want to lay the blow on him like this. After all, he'd dated my sister and he'd been rather close with her, if only for her cookies.

He stopped fidgeting and stared at me. I think he was trying to see if I was telling the truth or not. I held his gaze for a short moment and then had to look away, lest I start crying. I didn't want to make a scene right there in the glass office.

"Rebecca? What does she have?" His piercing gaze never left me and I had to mumble my answer to the carpet.

"Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma," I kept staring at the carpet, not daring to look up, just in case I lost my nerve, "I'm going to have to go back to California. I can't afford to stay here. I need to look for a job and find some way to make money."

"No way," I looked up at him and he glared right back, "I'm not letting you go across the country while Wilson is sick. You said he might die even if you're here; he will die if you're not."

I didn't say anything and just looked back down at the floor. Honestly, I didn't know what to say. It wasn't that I didn't care about Greg's best friend. I just couldn't see what I could do without the CDC's backing.

"I told you before and I'll tell you one more time. We don't need the CDC. You know this stuff better than anyone I know. You don't need a team or money or anything else in order to fix him. You can have everything I have here and that's a lot more than you had in Godforsaken Africa." He put his leg down and stood up, not without some struggle, "Come on, it's lunchtime. I'll even buy."

I looked up at his towering form and opened my mouth to argue, he beat me to the punch, "Standing up and walking to the cafeteria doesn't require words. Just do it."

I closed my mouth and stood up, following orders. I didn't want to think about money or my job or my sister, though I knew he wouldn't let me get away with that. I simply followed him out of the room and down to the cafeteria.

* * *

"I'm afraid the prognosis isn't good. She's at a stage three and even with chemo and radiation, there's little chance that she'll last more than six months to a year." The oncologist at UCLA was an asshole who I despised with every fiber of my being. Telling me that my sister was going to die wasn't helping his case.

"Alright, when can we go home?" I refused to look weak in front of this man who had just poked a huge hole in my emotional balloon.

"I suggest you get her into a home hospice program or something like it. I'm sure you don't have time to take care of her and she'll need a lot of help in these late stages. You can go home in a day or 

so." I didn't acknowledge him and just sat down, picking up the journal I was reading and going back to work. He got the hint and left, leaving me to brood.

My sister, Rebecca, had made some bad choices in her life. After our father died she had gone into a deep depression. During our childhood I had never really thought that she was that close with our father but apparently she was closer than I'd observed. She'd tried to kill herself a number of times, nearly succeeding once. After Dana, who had gone almost insane once she realized that she was forced to take care of her dead husband's children, nearly beat Rebecca to death, Rebecca decided to run away and she ran to L.A., doing God knows what for three years.

I went off to Northwestern University in Chicago and almost forgot about my sister. Until she showed up in front of my apartment building the day before Christmas, I was sure I had moved on. I was in my sophomore year of college as microbiology major and I was doing well for myself. Rebecca looked like a completely different person. She had obviously seen the nasty side of Los Angeles.

She lived with me through my senior year in college and, just after I was told to seek medical school elsewhere, she decided to get a home of her own. She had started working in a department store and I was happy that she was doing better. I went off to Michigan State University in East Lansing and then transferred to the University of Michigan and moved in with Greg during his last year of medical school and my second.

After Greg graduated and left me to live alone again, Rebecca showed up, looking worse than before. She'd been diagnosed with the Epstein - Barr virus and I knew that she'd been working the streets. I found out she was addicted to cocaine and I immediately started working to convince her to go to rehab. I got her in the hospital and a friend of mine at Michigan agreed to look at her. They treated her EBV and got her into rehab. After she got out she refused to speak to me and moved back to Chicago, and back to her crappy life there.

Now, I was sitting in the UCLA hospital waiting room, waiting for my sister to recover enough to go home. I had already picked a hospice and I was making plans. I would cost me an arm and a leg, but this was my sister. She needed to at least be comfortable, especially if I couldn't be there to ensure it. So most of my paycheck would go into her care and I would have to live off the rest of it. It was going to be a challenge.

* * *

Lunch consisted of a Reuben for Greg and a salad for me. He'd mocked me all the way from the salad bar to the table. He was watching me, trying to stuff my face and still look polite, and trying not to laugh. I knew I was a sight but lately I hadn't been eating.

"You can sleep on my couch." I looked up with lettuce still in my mouth and he had to stifle a laugh again, "Until Wilson is better, you can sleep on my couch. I'm sorry the presidential suite isn't available but if you ask Wilson, the couch isn't too bad."

I took a drink of my Diet Coke and tried to process the information he was handing me, "Are you sure…" I trailed off and tried to think of a good way to phrase the next sentence. I was worried that I would do something stupid if I was that close to him outside of the hospital.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go get your stuff and check out. After work I'll show you my apartment. You can sleep there but I don't want any daisies on my dinner table." He took a bite of his Reuben and focused on it, telling me that he didn't want to discuss it.

I looked down at my salad and muttered, "I like tulips."

He swallowed his bite and gave me a look. I just smiled and ate more of my salad.


	12. Blacklisted

A/N: Here you go. A nice new chapter as a reward for the reviews. I appreciate it. The ending may make the pairing obvious but don't get too comfortable. After all, it wouldn't be interesting if it wasn't dramatic.

Disclaimer: Maybe for Christmas.

* * *

Dr. Wilson didn't look any better but he also didn't look any worse. He was holding at a steady 103.4 degree temperature and he hadn't vomited in the last three hours. I stopped by his room on my way out of the building. Greg had almost been right; with all of my problems, I had nearly forgotten about James.

He was awake when I got down there and, when he saw me stop in front of his room, he tried to sit up. I held up a hand and motioned toward the entrance chamber. I would suit up and go in to talk to him. I needed to take advantage of the fact that he was awake.

After putting on all of my protective gear, I went in and checked his stats, "Looks like the Ribovirin is finally helping. How do you feel?"

"How do I look?" His voice was hoarse and he was lying on his side, holding his abdomen.

"You're going to be okay. Your test results should be in soon and that will tell us what we're dealing with. Since the Ribovirin is working, I'm going to guess it's a mutation of Lassa. It explains why it went through Vince so fast and why you started vomiting so early. Unfortunately, we don't have CDC backing anymore." His eyes were closed but I knew he was listening to me.

He turned to look at me after hearing about the CDC and I took the opportunity to check his eyes for broken or dissolved blood vessels, there were none, "What happened?"

"I got fired, not surprisingly. I knew it was coming." He closed his eyes again and looked exasperated. In fact, he looked how I felt, "You should try to get some rest. I need to go check out of my hotel and get my stuff together. I'll be back later this afternoon."

His eyes shot open again and he gave me a desperate look, "You're leaving?"

He tried to sit up like he was going to stop me and I just held up my hand, "I'm not leaving, I'm just relocating. Since the CDC decided to fire me I need to change my living arrangements."

He relaxed and lay back down, closing his eyes and sighing. I stood up and made my way for the door, "Rita?" I turned back around and looked at him.

He paused for a minute and I thought that something bad had happened, "James?"

He opened his eyes and looked at me pleadingly, "Never mind."

I tried to smile at him as he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. The poor guy was scared and lonely. I made a note to make sure to sit with him tonight for a while. At least to make him feel supported.

* * *

I got all of my stuff together and changed my clothes before heading out of the hotel. I changed from my fairly conservative slacks and button down blouse combination to a simple pair of jeans and a Northwestern sweatshirt. I stared at my auburn hair in the mirror and pulled out a couple more grey strands before pulling it back into a ponytail and sighing at myself in the mirror. I looked like I couldn't afford a loaf of bread, which was pretty much the truth. I had about 300 to last me until I got another job and a paycheck. That was if the hospice didn't demand more money. My sister was getting worse and we'd have to move her into a full time care facility soon.

By the time I was checked out and ready to go back to the hospital, it was three in the afternoon. I stopped by McDonalds on my way to pick up some french fries in order to quell the hunger that was starting to distract me. My phone buzzed at me as I was pulling out of the drive through and I thought about ignoring it. With my luck this was the hospital calling to tell me Dr. Wilson had crashed, my sister had died, or worse, it was Greg calling telling me he'd thought about his offer and decided that it was just as bad an idea as I'd suggested.

"Rita Johnson." I pulled into a parking space and put the car in park. Better to park than try to drive, eat, and talk on the phone. I pulled out a couple of fries and stuffed them into my mouth.

"It's me." I sighed with relief, it was Jack.

"Jack! Oh thank God! Finally someone who doesn't want to ruin my life calls. What's going on? How's Germany? How are you?"

"Whoa! Hold on. I'm fine and I'm back in D.C. They called off the Germany project after you left; shut the whole thing down. You really pissed Macintosh off, Rita. I heard he fired you, I'm sorry. He was talking about trying to get your license taken away but I don't think he can. He's going to blacklist you, Rita." I couldn't breathe and I didn't know why. It wasn't as if I wasn't expecting this. I knew he was going to fire me; of course he'd blacklist me too.

I tried to breathe and I realized I was crying, "Rita? Are you there?" I couldn't see through the tears and I was sobbing loudly. A couple who was standing next to my car looked in on me in horror and confusion. I cried for everything. I cried for myself, alone and penniless. I cried for James, sick and scared. I cried for Rebecca, dying and without family. Most of all, I cried for Greg, crippled, angry, and alone in the world. I realized in that small moment of turmoil that I wasn't in New Jersey for me or for the Lassa virus that was killing James. I was in New Jersey for one reason.

I was there for Gregory House.

I hung up on Jack and put my car in reverse, heading for the hospital with renewed confidence. I knew what I was going to do.


	13. House Manor

A/N: Sorry it's been so long. School got the best of me. And sorry these chapters have been so short. When I finish this thing I'll go back through and combine some of them so that they're longer and you don't have to keep clicking that button.

Just a small word of caution... the two medications that Rita suggests to combine with the Ribovirin are indeed used for severe flu patients. They are supposed to stop the virus from multiplying and give the body a chance to fight it off. It seemed like a workable plan so I used those. Of course, I am a music theory major and NOT a doctor... so it wouldn't be smart to test it out on the next Lassa patient you meet.

Disclaimer: Nope...

* * *

I walked into the hospital with a renewed sense of confidence. Sure, my job was gone, I was almost completely broke, and I was now blacklisted, but looking on the bright side, my hamster still loved me; or he would if he was still alive by the time I could afford to get back to California.

"Rita!" Chase caught me just as I was about to get into the elevators, "The test results are back. You were right, it's a mutation."

I pulled the file out of his hand and scoffed, "Of course I was right. You thought I wasn't?"

"Well, I-" He relinquished the file and took a step back.

I read the results and looked back up at him, "Sorry, I'm in a oddly good mood. I shouldn't be, but I am. It's all very confusing."

He looked at me like I was crazy and shrugged. He turned to go to the elevators and looked back at me over his shoulder, shaking his head and stepping into the elevator. I decided to take the stairs to the isolation ward and inform Dr. Wilson of the new results. Hopefully we could get the right combination of medication in him and he would get better. That was the best case though.

When I got down to the basement I stopped at watched. Greg was leaning against his cane not one foot from the glass wall separating him from James. The look on his face was horrible. He was afraid and desperate. I took a deep breath and walked over to him.

He glanced over at me and then looked back at James. I held the file out to him and looked in on James, there wasn't any improvement. He turned around and leaned against the glass, taking the file and flipping it open.

"There's hope yet. The pathology makes it look like only a small mutation. I'm thinking if we give him oseltamivir or zanamivir, along with the ribovirin, he should be able to beat it." I looked over to Greg to try to judge his reaction, his face stayed a blank slate, however.

"Those are for Influenza, he doesn't have influenza." Greg flipped the file shut and shoved it back at me, "Just giving him random drugs for different viruses is a half assed way to approach this."

"I know that you're worried about him but you have to trust me. I've seen mutations before and I know which drugs work." I turned back to look at James and tried to ignore Greg and how ruffled my feathers suddenly felt.

I heard the tip of his cane hit the floor and he moved away from the glass, "Yeah, on monkeys. He isn't a monkey, Rita." I thought he was going to walk away and leave me to brood but before he did he looked back at James and said something so quietly that I almost doubted he'd said anything at all, "He's my best friend."

He walked away and I let him go. I wasn't worried about him, yet. I knew where the line was and I knew that, if he got desperate, he'd stop listening all together. At least he was still listening.

I grabbed my cell phone and paged Chase, telling him to give James oseltamivir. I took one last look at my patient and then left. My watch told me it was time to go sleep, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to make that trip quite yet. I was aching for a good eight hours of nothing.

I stood in Greg's office, watching him stare at his blank white board. I thought he'd heard my entry but clearly, if he did, he was ignoring me.

"I don't know what to do."

I took a step forward and strained to her him. I was either going deaf or I just couldn't believe my ears. Then again, of course he didn't know what to do. He wasn't the one who spent long hours in the lab, playing with viruses and infecting monkeys.

"There isn't anything you can do." I tried to be supportive but it came out more annoyed. This virus was in my job description, not his.

He turned around violently and gave me a piercing look of despair. I wondered if he knew that he was letting down his walls. He limped over to his desk and grabbed his bag and his keys. I followed him with my gaze but didn't move an inch. An angry Greg was a hostile Greg. I didn't want to get caught in the middle of his inner turmoil.

"Come on. You're with me tonight." He limped out of the room and I followed like an obedient puppy. I absentmindedly wondered what his apartment looked like. I'd lived with him during medical school so I knew his habits well enough, or his habits pre-infarction. Who knew, he could have changed.

We got all the way to his car without exchanging a word. In fact, we got halfway there without exchanging anything but silence. Finally, I broke down and tried to lighten the mood, "My friend in Germany called me today. Turns out that, after firing me, Macintosh called the whole thing off and sent the whole Germany team home. I feel important."

"You shouldn't." He stared at the road and didn't say another word. I kept glancing at him, wondering why he wasn't arguing his point or insulting me. Even before the infarction he would have said something to hurt my feelings and then said something sweet and laughed at me. He wasn't even blindly poking for my buttons.

He pulled his car into a parking space in front of the apartment building and we got out. I dragged my duffle bag along behind me and looked around, "Nice neighborhood."

He shrugged and opened the door, throwing his bag on the leather chair and limping towards the kitchen, "Welcome to House Manor. Please refrain from taking pictures as it ruins the paintings."

His apartment wasn't anything unexpected. It was cluttered, as a man's apartment generally tends to be. There were paintings on the walls but no photos. He had a baby grand piano in the corner and there was a bottle of scotch on the coffee table. I wasn't shocked but I wasn't pleasantly surprised. Just because I was right in my assumptions, that didn't make them good.

I dropped my bag on the couch and followed him into the kitchen, "I thought I had at least a box of macaroni and cheese in here or something." He had his head stuck in a cabinet.

I opened the fridge and wrinkled my nose, "Sour milk and string cheese?" I shut the fridge door and looked over at him, "Now I know why you're so thin."

"You like sausage?"


	14. Memories and Dreams

A/N: Here's another insanely short chapter. Sorry for the lack of length. These days, I'm good to get 1200 words in a chapter, it seems. I sure hope I can finish this. Laniki and Buffy Sparrow, I owe you EVERYTHING. You're basically the only ones who've reviewed and I appreciate all the feedback you've given me. Please review people. I'm running out of steam here.

Disclaimer: Rita May is mine... all the others are open to fight over.

* * *

I was walking through a black field. Everything was burned: the trees, the grass, even the animals seemed to be stepping carefully. Bits of burnt paper were floating in the wind. I caught one and turned it over, instantly recognizing a photo of my siblings and I at a soccer game, many years ago. I couldn't remember the event. The photo burned to ash in my hand and, although I didn't feel the heat, a piece of my heart seemed to burn away with it.

I kept walking and soon I came upon a charred white box. I knew what this was and I fell to my knees, a sinking feeling in my stomach. I felt tears on my cheeks as I began to pull photo after photo out of the box. These were from the time in my life when I thought I was photographer material.

Candid pictures of Greg, among other things. Pictures of him sleeping, eating, studying, watching TV. All of these pictures of one person, like I was afraid if I didn't take enough photos of him, he might disappear. Each time I pulled one out, it burned before I could save it. I picked up the box and dumped out its contents, searching for a particular photo. Burnt pieces of paper went fluttering to the ground and I sifted through them like mad. Finally, I found it, the photo I'd thought was lost so many years ago. It was of me and Greg at his graduation. I was smiling like crazy and he just seemed amused. He was smiling though, teeth and everything! I had cherished this picture secretly for a long time. I jumped up, prepared to run with the picture, to get away from the burning field. The photo began to fray and burn and I tried to run, to yell at it, anything to make it stop. I felt like my whole body was falling apart. I was suddenly aware of a sharp pain all over. I was burning with the photo! I had to stop it! I had to get away.

* * *

I woke up screaming and the rawness in my throat told me I'd been screaming for a while. Greg was standing over me and I had a death grip on his arm. He motioned for me to sit up and I did so, letting go of his arm and rubbing my eyes.

"You didn't say you were going to wake me up at two in the morning. I would have reconsidered." I couldn't see his face for the dark and I wondered if he was serious or not. He sat down next to me and flipped on the light, temporarily blinding us both. As soon as I could see, I looked at his face and the concern there told me that he wasn't serious about reconsidering.

We were quiet for a few minutes and I didn't want to break the comfortable silence, but I felt I needed to, "I'm sorry I woke you. I don't know where that came from. I haven't had a nightmare in years."

He shrugged and looked away, "I wasn't asleep anyway. I don't sleep much. What did you dream about, anyway?"

I fumbled for a response and decided it would be better to avoid the truth, "I can't remember." I chuckled half-heartedly, "Seems pretty silly to wake up screaming and then forget what you were screaming about."

He gave me a look but didn't say anything else on the subject. He just grabbed the TV remote and clicked it on.

After about fifteen minutes of a late night infomercial, I was starting to get drowsy again. Neither of us had said a word, we had simply sat there, staring at the television without really seeing it. I forgot that I was supposed to be acting distant and I laid my head on Greg's shoulder, dosing off. I felt him tense and he turned his head to look at me. A couple of awkward minutes went by with me, trying to decide whether to move away or proceed as planned, and Greg, staring at the TV and trying to pretend like he wasn't scared of what might happen. After three long minutes passed, I felt him relax and he moved his arm to rest on the couch behind me, giving me a more comfortable position against his shoulder.

"I missed you, Rita May." He whispered into my hair and I took a deep breath, releasing it in the form of a sigh. I didn't say anything though, choosing to close my eyes and relish the moment. I pulled my feet up under me and nestled into him, taking a deep breath and smiling. At least, for one tiny moment, we could both relax.

When I woke up, I was laying on the couch with the blanket tucked in around me. My joints felt rusty and I had a crick in my neck. I must have fallen asleep on him and he must have put me like this. I groaned and put the pillow over my head, willing the day to go away. After about five minutes of near suffocation, I forced myself to get off the couch. I stood up and immediately sat back down. My back felt like a million hot pokers had been stuck into it. Clearly, sleeping on the couch just wasn't meant for me. I silently prayed I wouldn't need to stay much longer.

Standing up again, I maneuvered carefully over to my duffle bag and got out the basic bathroom essentials. I walked past Greg's room toward the bathroom and peeked in on him. He was sprawled across the bed on his back. His long limbs nearly reached both ends of the bed. He looked peaceful enough, so I passed the room and headed for the bathroom to shower and such.

After a twenty minute shower I felt much better. The pain in my back was nearly gone and my neck felt better too. Maybe my mood would change. Not that I was upset or anything. I was just confused. It felt like a hurricane had hit and my emotions were in an uproar.

I left the bathroom, dressed for the day, and tried to push my inhibitions to the back burner. After all, I probably wasn't the only one who felt like this today.

I went into the kitchen and dug around for a couple of minutes. I could hear Greg milling around in the other room, so I knew he was up.

"If you hurry you can buy us breakfast!" I yelled with my head in a cabinet. I heard him thump his way into the kitchen. I was bent over, examining the contents of a lower cabinet, and I didn't bother turning around to look at him.

"Don't move." His voice was low and scratchy from sleep and I froze. He sounded serious.

"What? What is it? Is there a spider?" I started to panic and I backed out of the cabinet, still in an awkward bent position.

I heard Greg chuckle and I immediately stood up, "Always spoiling my fun. That was a flattering position."

I gave him a look at tried to seem authoritative, "If I'm going to stay here another minute, we're going to the grocery store today. I can't take this lack of food."

He turned and, leaning heavily on his cane, made his way for the door, grabbing his jacket and keys on the way out, "It looks like a nice day, I'm taking the bike. Good luck with that grocery shopping."


	15. Grace is Gone

A/N: So, here's another one. Buffy Sparrow (whom I thank for the great reviews) gave me the idea of ending it the easy way... which works most of the time... but I wanted to end it the hard way. So here's the beginning of the end. And this is the hardest way ever. This chapter really wrote itself. Once I got started the words just poured out. I wrote it while listening to 'Grace is Gone' by Dave Matthews Band on repeat. I cried when I finished it.

Disclaimer: Rita is my own. Otherwise, still up for grabs.

* * *

By the time I got to the hospital, after stopping at the local donut shop for some breakfast, House had already been to his office and gone again. I put my things down in a chair in the connecting conference room and said my hellos to Chase and Foreman, absentmindedly wondering where Cameron was. I didn't think to ask though and simply made my way to the isolation ward.

I was assaulted while coming out of the elevator by an irate Gregory House, "Your treatment isn't working!"

He raised his cane and I thought he was going to hit me, I panicked and the best I could come up with was, "Oh-"

He made a sort of growling noise and the fire in his eyes threatened to burn me like the fire in my dream had burned my photos. I managed to pick through the wreckage of my emotions and reply in a somewhat normal manner, "Thanks for the update." I pushed past him and made my way to the glass wall surrounding James' room.

Cameron was inside and she looked like she'd been there all night. Before I could control it, I felt a sort of sisterly sympathy for her. I decided to suit up and go in.

"Got an update for me?" I entered the room without a warning and startled her from analyzing the heart monitor.

"He's worse. Everyone is panicking." She turned and looked at me frantically, uncontrollable horror in her eyes, "He's going to die."

I raised my eyebrows in honest surprise, I really thought that treatment would work, "Fear not, Cameron. There are about ten more medications we can try before we have to give up on him. It's not over yet. He just has to keep fighting."

"No, you don't understand. Feel his abdomen." She stepped away and gestured for me to take her place.

I stepped forward and did a quick assessment of his organs. After about fifteen seconds of silence I turned back towards her and faked a look of assurance, "It's not over yet. I've seen worse."

Truth was, I hadn't and I felt like I was going to throw up right there. I didn't wait for a response and I bolted from the room. I needed to think of something in the next half hour or he was a goner. He was already a prime candidate for liver transplant and dialysis.

Greg stopped me again before I could get to the elevator, "If he dies, so help me-"

I couldn't take it, the constant pressure. I'd lost my job, all of my money, and pretty soon I'd lose James too. I exploded and most of it got on Greg.

"Threatening me isn't going to help him!" I pointed at the room and scowled at Greg, "He's dying and all you can do is threaten me? Who do you think you are? You haven't done one thing to help me here! You brought me in too late to save the first guy and you just expect me to save him too? I'm not God, Greg, and neither are you!" I stomped off and left a surprised looking Greg behind.

By the time I got to the conference room I was sobbing like a baby. Thank goodness, for my sake, there was no one inside. I drew the blinds and pulled out my cell phone and laptop. I could call in some favors and see where that got me. Worst case scenario was coming up on us fast.

Twenty minutes and a full cup of coffee, thanks to Chase, later, I was nowhere closer to finding the answer. I'd heard Greg enter his office and I could hear him bouncing a ball against a wall and growling to himself. I felt really bad about mouthing off to him but what was I supposed to do? You can only push a woman so far.

I bolted out of my chair and yelled. That was it! We push the virus to it's breaking point and it'll kill itself! We'd done it before in petri dishes. This was just like doing it in a breathing petri dish. We didn't have anything to lose.

I pushed the door to Greg's office open and went running in like my pants were on fire, "I've got it! I know what to do!"

He looked up at me and scowled, "Another bright idea, huh?"

I frowned but I wouldn't let him rain on my parade so easily, "This is it. I know this will work."

After ten minutes of explaining the idea and trying to convince him it was the right thing to do, I still didn't have him one-hundred percent on board with me, "This just sounds like your flu treatment, except even less dependable. Wilson isn't a monkey, Rita!"

"No, but he isn't that different. Men are a lot like monkeys. How do you think I got to be so good at manipulating them? I work with them all day." I turned around and stormed off towards the lab, content to do this all on my own, or at least with Chase and Foreman's help.

After some frantic lab work, I suited up and went in to inject James with the cocktail we'd come up with. If this didn't work, nothing would. I shooed Cameron out and told her to go help Chase and Foreman with something upstairs. Of course, I was lying. She obeyed and I silently thanked her.

I injected the serum directly into James' vein and sat down, willing to wait all night if I had to. It wasn't like there was a five course dinner and a feather bed waiting for me. I sighed and checked his pulse, feeling around on his abdomen just to make sure I wasn't imagining things. I definitely wasn't. This was the fastest moving form of Lassa I'd ever seen. Unfortunately, I wasn't going to be able to tell anyone about it. I'd be lucky to get a job as a waitress, after the blacklisting.

I soon fell asleep, my head next to James' feet. I was tired and upset. I got about thirty minutes of sleep before the beeping of his heart monitor woke me up. I fell off the stool and jumped up in time to watch him flatline. I dragged over the defibrillator and started to panic. I charged and shocked seven times before a nurse finally got to me and forced me to stop. I was crying and in a blind panic I grabbed for the machine, knocking the nurse down.

"No! There's still hope. There's always hope! I'm not a failure!" I charged again and this time it was Chase, who'd come running in at the nick of time, who grabbed me and Foreman, who came at the same time I assume, who took the paddles from me.

I turned around and tried to push Chase away, but he held fast and I gave up quickly. I dissolved into a puddle and cried my heart out.

I cried for my sister. I cried for my job. I cried for myself. I cried for Greg. Mostly, I cried for James who never got a chance.


	16. Soul Searching

A/N: Two chapters in one night? Who is this author?! It certainly isn't me! The wrap-up will be in the next couple of chapters. I'm anticipating two more and an epilogue. I can't BELIEVE I'm actually finishing one!! EEK!!

There's a tiny bit of third person in this chapter. You'll recognize it. I couldn't think of a better way to approach it. REVIEW please!! We're almost done.

Disclaimer: Nope... again.

* * *

I was sitting in the hallway across from the isolation room when he found me. At first I didn't know whether to apologize, run, or just beg for mercy. Frankly, I didn't care. A small part of me hoped he'd kill me right there, I'd already lost everything else.

Instead, he simply tossed a key at me, "Get your stuff and get out before I get home. Go back to LA. I don't want to see you around."

I picked the key up off the floor where it fell and didn't look up. I'm sure in retrospect I would discover that I shouldn't have been so ashamed. I, after all, couldn't solve all of life's mysteries. But in that moment, I felt like the scum of the earth and I wanted to dig a hole right there and bury myself in it.

He walked away without another word, not even raising his voice to me, and I knew what sort of punishment I was going to get. I was going to get the same punishment Stacy got after the infarction. He was going to push me out of his life.

After a moment's hesitation, I looked up, prepared to say something to try to make the situation better, but he was long gone.

* * *

I unloaded the last of the grocery bags into Greg's apartment and made sure to put away the perishables. I felt like this was the least I could do, after failing like I did. I was beating myself up and, as my own personal punishment, I'd spent a hundred dollars on groceries for him. He looked like he never ate and I didn't want him to overdose on vicodin in the depression I was sure he would fall into after his best friend's death.

Throwing my duffel bag into the trunk of my rental car, I got into the drivers side and stared out the windshield. I thought about what had happened over the last week and despaired. What was I going home to? An apartment I couldn't pay for and a life I didn't want to go back to. I started the engine and felt dampness on my cheeks. I laughed to myself, I didn't think I had any tears left in me.

I pulled away from the curb and soon I was on the highway. Princeton, New Jersey was in my rearview mirror before I could take a full breath and New Jersey was gone before I took my first bathroom break. I felt like a failure and a loser. I'd left without saying goodbye, to anyone. The only goodbye I'd left was a note for Greg with his key on the kitchen table.

* * *

Greg House found the note left by Rita at seven o'clock that evening. He had come home, prepared to drink himself into a stupor, with a small part of him hoping she'd still be there. He pushed that part of himself away and tried to be angry with her but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't blame her for Wilson's death. Come to think of it, he didn't blame her at all. He blamed himself.

Picking up the note he read it quickly and threw it in the trash angrily.

_Greg,_

_I understand why you're angry with me. I wish I could have done something more. In retrospect, I should have taken my boss's advice and sent a team instead. Dr. Wilson would have lived and I could have kept my job. Than again, we humans do strange things for our loved ones. I lost everything to come help you. The sad part is, I lost everything for nothing. _

_I'm sorry we had to part this way. I only hope that you won't blame yourself for this. Please don't do anything rash._

_I'll be here if you need me,_

_Rita May_

That Rita really knew which buttons to press.

* * *

I'd been in California for a month now and nothing was getting better. I was falling into a depression that I couldn't pull myself out of. I'd stopped speaking to people, I wasn't looking for a job, and I wasn't eating hardly at all. Jack had stopped by a couple of times to make sure I was alive but I wouldn't speak to him. I was a failure in his eyes as well as everyone else's.

For some odd reason, I couldn't stop thinking about Greg. I was sure I'd relived every memory I had with him but, for some reason, new ones would come every night. I'd never realized what an important part of my life he was and now that he wasn't a part of it anymore, I really felt the hole he left.

I'd been in touch with Lisa Cuddy through email. She assured me at least once a week that Greg was okay. The first two weeks were hard, she'd said, and he didn't take any cases. Slowly but surely, though, he got back on the diagnostics horse, so to speak. She said he was back to himself, on the outside, but she was afraid that the loss of his best friend would leave a scar on the inside that would make it hard for him to function in the future. He'd simply lost too much.

She'd also mentioned him asking about me on more than one occasion and even trying to convince her to offer me a job. She told me that if I needed her help I was more than welcome to come and speak with her personally. Frankly, I didn't want to work within a hundred miles of Greg. The wound was too fresh.

But, him asking about me was good news. That meant that he was thinking about me almost as much as I was thinking about him. Maybe I wasn't going crazy after all.

The next day, as I was sitting on my couch in my pajamas watching some crap reality TV show, my phone rang. I glanced over at it and considered the possibilities. There weren't many. In fact, I couldn't think of any at all.

So, I decided to answer the phone for the first time in four weeks, "Rita Johnson." My voice was a sick sounding monotone that hurt even my own ears.

"Rita? It's Robert Chase, from Princeton Plainsboro." It took me a second to realize who Robert Chase was. For some reason, I'd forgotten about him entirely.

"Oh, hi Chase. How are you?" The tone in my voice hardly changed and I wondered if I could sound interested anymore.

"Um, I'm okay. I was actually calling about you. House has been browbeating us like crazy and Cameron said she'd found some unsent letters from House to you. She read them and thought that someone should call and check on you. Are you doing alright?" His concern made his accent thicker than normal and I smiled faintly. I'd always thought that accent was endearing. A younger woman would have fallen for it, any day.

"I'm surviving, though I probably don't deserve to be." I tried to change the tone in my voice and managed a small difference, "How's Greg doing?"

"Not well, I don't think. He feels bad about how he treated you, I think. He's beating himself up about Wilson too. It isn't making him very much fun to work with. Not that he's much fun on a normal day." I chuckled lightly and I could hear his relief, "I'm glad you're doing okay. Have you found a job?"

"Not yet. I'm taking some time off for reflection. It's turned out to be a sort of soul searching. I've found some lost emotions and learned a lot. Plus, I've lost some weight." I tried to put a positive twist to my depression and lack of appetite.

"Well, I'm pretty sure you're welcome here, if you can stand working close to House. I think he'd be glad to see you." Chase paused and his tone got serious, "Rita, he cares about you, more than you think. He's falling apart over here."

I don't know why, but that last statement made me angrier than I'd been in a month, "Well you can tell him that he's not the only one suffering and it's his own damn fault anyway. He pushed me away and if he wants to fix anything he'll have to come over here and do it." I sounded like a five year old who hadn't gotten the right candy bar. I had a lot of pent up emotion towards Greg.

"I'll, uh, let him know." Chase paused again and sighed, "Listen, Rita, if you need any help you know you can call me, right? I'll be happy to help you out."

"Thanks, Chase. I'm sure I'll be fine. Time heals all wounds, right? Thanks for calling." I hadn't meant to say any of that. I wasn't going to be fine and time could go kiss a donkey and I wished he wouldn't have called and reopened the wound I was doing such a good job of concealing.

"No problem. Call me, anytime." He sounded distracted and I pictured Greg, storming into the office and starting a differential.

"Alright, goodbye." I hung up the phone before any background noise got to me. God forbid I hear his voice.

I sat there and stared out the window for three hours before I felt my backside going numb and an aching need in my stomach. I got up, made my self a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of wine, and went to bed. It was five o'clock in the afternoon.


	17. Trouble

A/N: Second to last chapter! I hope it is satisfactory. This one sort of jumps around between House and Rita. Let me know if it's hard to follow. I'm scared that House is OC. Definitely let me know if that is the case. Please review to let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: ...

* * *

Gregory House was not often predictable. In fact, he was usually described as decidedly unpredictable. The way he was acting now, though, was definitely predictable. An old rerun of The L Word was playing on the TV but he wasn't watching it. He was sitting on the couch, working on his third glass of scotch, and feeling sorry for himself. Yeah, that was predictable. Of course he'd be feeling sorry for himself. His best friend had just died, for God's sakes!

This was a normal evening at home for him. At least, ever since Wilson died. He rubbed his forehead and took another gulp of scotch, sighing in frustration. He couldn't honestly blame all of this on Wilson's death. Rita had opened up a can and then just run away from everything. She was notorious for running away from everything and it pissed him off. Why was she allowed to run around the world when she wasn't happy, while he had to stay here and face his problems. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get her out of his head. The way her bright green eyes danced when she got excited, the way the dimple in her right cheek showed when she really smiled, the way her auburn hair smelled of peaches, the way she babbled when she got worked up, and especially, the way she made him want to rip off her clothes one minute and console her the next.

It was true, he and Rita had a long and complicated past. She'd been the only thing that kept him from killing his dad and he'd been the only thing that kept her from dropping out of school after her sister showed up out of the blue. He really thought he was over her though. It was dismaying to find out that he was no better off than when he graduated from medical school. He couldn't lie, he'd loved her since he heard her playing the piano when he was a senior in high school. The only problem was the fact that he couldn't tell her. He'd only destroy her, more than she already was.

He took another gulp of scotch and reached for his bottle of vicodin on the coffee table. No sense in drinking yourself into oblivion without opiates.

* * *

I was sitting at the cheap upright piano in my apartment, eyes closed, playing a song from a new CD I'd bought before I left Germany. It was by one of my favorite bands, Coldplay, and as I played I reflected. I needed a plan. I couldn't last much longer in the condition I was in. I was running out of food and my rent would be due soon. I'd made some calls in the last couple of days to local hospitals, including LA General. They all told me they'd get back to me and I was sure they wouldn't as soon as they did a little background checking. The CDC knew how to blacklist.

I stopped playing and stood up, walking into the kitchen and looking at the calendar. It was nearing two months since I'd abandoned the Germany project and gone to Princeton. I hadn't heard anything from them since Chase had called. I needed to find a job somewhere, even if it wasn't a hospital. I sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh and opened the yellow pages. I'd have to lower my standards.

* * *

"House, you're not yourself anymore. Take some time off and figure it out." Lisa Cuddy crossed her arms and tried to stare down her best diagnostician. She was standing in the clinic exam room that House was currently hiding in to watch his soap.

Greg really didn't care, he didn't need to take time off, he was fine, "I'm sure glad you picked me to hover over." He turned up the volume on his mini television.

"Fine. You're suspended. Until you figure our your problem, you're not allowed in the hospital." He switched off his TV and glared at her, making her smirk in defiance, "Go home, House. Call Rita. Hell, go to California if you have to. Fix it." She walked out of the room before he could say anything and he grumbled. Nothing was going right.

House put the TV in his jacket pocket and did his best to stomp to the elevator. He pouted all the way to his office, grabbed his bag, and left. He wasn't going to argue with Cuddy because, he hated to admit it, she was right. Hooking his cane to his bike, he mused over his options. He could go home and get drunk, like usual. Or he could call Rita and actually face his problems. He decided to make a last minute decision when he got back to the apartment. No need to spend too much energy worrying about it.

* * *

"Hi! This is Dr. Rita Johnson's answering machine. Clearly, you've missed me. Please leave your name and number and I'll call you back when I can." I was laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to convince myself to stop crying. I ignored the phone and pulled the pillow over my head.

"Rita, pick up the phone. I know you're there." What the hell was he doing calling me? I threw the pillow at the phone and knocked it off the bedside table.

"Answer the damn phone, Rita. I'm not going to sit here all day." He was _still_ on the other end. I was sure the pillow would have shut him up.

I rolled over and grabbed the phone off the floor, sniffling and hitting the 'Talk' button, "Hello?"

"Rita, it's me."

"I know it's you. You ordered me to answer the phone. Seems like I'm forced to obey you even when I'm a thousand miles away." I sniffled again and apparently he heard me this time.

"Have you been crying?" He sounded mildly concerned.

I laughed, "You never cared before, why start now? What do you want Greg?"

He ignored my first statement but I knew he wouldn't let it go for long, "Well, it's funny, really."

"Just spit it out. I don't have time to listen to you beat around the bush." I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror in my adjoining bathroom.

"Like hell you don't. I know you too well. You haven't even tried to get a job yet. You're probably just sitting around moping."

"I resent that." I scowled at myself and stated making faces, "I've actually called a couple of places, they're going to get back to me."

"Yeah, as soon as you get off that blacklist. Rita, I know what that's like. You and I are in the same situation." He paused and I heard him sigh, "Come back to Jersey. Cuddy will give you a job and you can start over."

I sat down on the toilet lid, too shocked to stay standing anymore. Was he asking me to come back? Greg didn't ask anything, he demanded.

I sighed and took a minute to weigh my options, "That's a bad idea, Greg. For once, I'm not going to jump to your aid. Look, I need to go. I have stuff I need to do this afternoon."

"Rita, don't make a choice you're going to regret." The tone of his voice sent shivers down my spine, he was almost pleading.

"For once, Greg, I'm thinking about myself. I'm sorry about James. I have to go." I stood up and went back to the bedroom, putting the phone cradle back on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, me too." He was upset with me and was putting up the walls, "Bye, Rita May."

"Bye Greg."

I hung up and stared at the phone. I couldn't believe that had just happened. _He_ wanted _me_ to come back. I was proud of myself for saying no but I could feel the solid ache in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to go back, badly.


	18. Eviction and Conference

A/N: Second to last chapter... I think. Hell, I don't know. We'll just go with the flow. This one jumps around again. Don't get confused. REVIEW please!!

Disclaimer: ...

* * *

People always tell you, never say 'it can't get any worse than this'. They say that if you do say it, it'll find a way to get worse. I couldn't remember saying it but I must have at some point.

"Rita, I like you. But I can't give you any more time. I have bills to pay too. You're going to have to pay the rent in three days or start packing. I'm sorry." My landlord, Daniel, had been a friend of mine since I moved in. I had hoped that he would give me a break but unfortunately, I'd already taken advantage of his leniency to the point of eviction.

"You know I can't, Dan. The only money I have is for my sister's fund. I can't use that money." We were sitting on my couch in my sparse living room. Four months had passed since I'd been in Princeton and I'd sold almost everything. My tv, my car, and my kitchen table were all gone. Pretty soon, I'd be on the street.

"Maybe you should start thinking about yourself for once. You've spent your whole life worrying about other people. Get a job, put your sister in a normal hospice, not that ritzy one you've got her sitting in now. She's dying Rita, she won't care." He took a gulp of the water I'd given him when he got here and stared me down. Like he knew how to live my life better than I did.

He'd pushed my last button. I stood up violently and dropped my glass of water in the process. It shattered on the hardwood floor and water went flying everywhere. I could feel my cheeks changing colors and I pictured all of the deans and doctors that I'd pissed off to get where I was. They all looked at me like I was looking at Dan that moment.

"Well, I'm going to have to start packing then. You're probably busy, you should go." I spoke through gritted teeth as I stomped over to the door and thrust it open. I couldn't take this constant judgment from everyone I came into contact with.

He placed his glass of water on the coffee table and walked out without saying a word. He did give me a nasty look of contempt before he left, though. The sort of look that made you hate yourself as much at the other person did.

I pulled on my tennis shoes and pulled my messy hair into a ponytail. No time like the present, right? I'd look for an apartment and do more soul searching if I had to.

* * *

"Any news?" Foreman walked up behind Chase, who was sitting at the computer in the conference room.

"Ask Cameron." Chase was completely absorbed in the website he was perusing.

"Plane tickets? To LA? What's in LA?" Foreman leaned over and examined the computer screen.

"Not what, who. Rita lives in LA. House hasn't been the same since she left and I'm tired of his whining. I'm sending him to LA. There's a conference coming up there anyway. Cuddy and I have decided to trick him and Rita into going to the conference to get them together. House'll be fine after this." Chase clicked a couple of buttons and the printer started working, "There, done. Now all we have to do is wait."

"What makes you think House will fall for this? He's not dumb, you know." Foreman shook his head at Chase's antics and went to make himself a cup of coffee.

"Don't you know? He tried to convince Rita to come back here. After she told him no he started acting like this. He'd do anything for an excuse to see her in person and get her to come back with him." Chase sat down at the table and flipped absently through a couple of files.

Foreman turned around and laughed, "For our sake, I hope you're right. He's starting to get on my nerves."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Chase jumped and spun around at the sound of the door being thrown open.

"I know you're talking about our patient." House limped in dramatically, followed by Cameron, "Differential diagnosis for headaches and seizures. Come on people. This guy doesn't have all day."

* * *

I had found an apartment that suited my needs rather quickly. In fact, it wasn't really an apartment, it was more of a hotel room for rent. It was basically just a bathroom and a bedroom and it was in the seedy part of town. It would have to do, however, until I found a job. I had an interview at the local blood bank tomorrow and another one at the nursing home on Thursday. I'd had to lie about my degrees, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten an interview anywhere. Applying to a nursing home as a caregiver when you have three specialties and should be making more money than you can count doesn't always work like it should.

I lay back on the tiny twin sized bed and tried to close my eyes and relax. Sleep wouldn't come however and when my phone rang I jumped in surprise. I'd forgotten I still had a cell phone as it hardly ever rang anymore.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi. Rita? It's Lisa Cuddy." She sounded nervous and I almost laughed at her. I hadn't spoken to her since I'd moved out of my apartment. If she could see me now.

"Hi Lisa, how are you?" I sat up and looked around, frowning, this really was a dump.

"I've been busy but I'm okay. What about you? Where do you work now?" She had no idea. Greg obviously hadn't said anything to her after he'd talked to me two months ago.

"Oh, I work at, uh, LA General. It's not a glamor job but it pays the bills." I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. I felt bad for lying but what was I supposed to say? 'I live in a cheap hotel in East LA and I'm just barely able to eat once a day?'

"Well, as long as you're doing okay. The offer still stands out here. You're always welcome. Frankly, I'd do anything to have someone with your level of expertise on my staff." She was just saying that, I could tell. Maybe Greg had told her and she was just being polite.

"I appreciate that, Lisa, but I'm doing great here." I stuck my tongue out at myself and then glared. I looked like my sister did when she showed up on my doorstep in college.

"Well I'm glad. That isn't actually why I'm calling though. I'm calling to congratulate you." I moved away from the mirror and walked over to my tiny closet. There was a box in there that I could look through if I needed something to do.

Wait, did she say congratulate me? For what? I pretended to laugh, "Congratulate me, huh? I'm sorry, I'm so popular around here, you're going to have to remind me what your congratulating me for."

"For the award you're getting at the infectious disease conference this month. You must know about it. It's all over the place. The conference is there in LA." She sounded genuinely confused.

"Oh, that." I honestly had no idea what she was talking about, "Well thanks, I appreciate it." I had to sit down. Award? No one was going to give _me_ and award. I'd just been blacklisted. What was she talking about?

"No problem. I'm glad you're doing well Rita. I hope you'll come visit us sometime." She was getting ready to hang up. I had to drill her for information fast.

"I'll do my best. Hey, Lisa, I know you're going to think I'm scatterbrained but I really can't remember when and where that conference is. Do you have that information or are you going to make me look it up?" I hoped I sounded casual.

"Oh sure! It's on the week of the 23rd at UCLA. Wouldn't want you to miss it!" She sounded like she wasn't even wondering why I didn't know, "Oh! Rita, I have to go. My 3:30 appointment is here. I'll talk to you again soon."

"Sure. Talk to you soon." I was sitting on the edge of my bed, completely baffled. I heard her hang up and I flipped my phone shut, cradling it in my hands. She had to be lying about the award. That or someone was lying to her about it.

Why would anyone lie about that though? That was just mean, to dangle that in front of me. After all I'd lost, I couldn't believe anyone could be cruel, especially Lisa Cuddy. I decided that it probably wasn't her that was doing the lying. She was just the innocent middle man. But then, who was making up the lies and why were they doing it? What would someone get out of convincing me to go to an infectious disease conference? Other than the perverse pleasure of seeing me hurt.

I decided I would go, just to see if I knew anyone there. I'd try to keep a low profile and find out who was doing this.

* * *

"I guess it's a good thing that I'm the boss in this situation, huh? You're going to that conference and that's the end of this argument." House wanted to stomp his foot and go back to being an upset three year old. Could Cuddy really _force_ him to go to a conference? If she could she was definitely going to.

House didn't say anything and just glared, "Just go, House. I know you could use the time away from Princeton. You know she doesn't work as a doctor anymore. It's up to you whether you see her or not. It's a win-win, House." Cuddy looked at him for a second and then dismissed him with a wave of her hand, choosing to avert her attention to the papers on her desk.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he could relax and use the trip for good. He didn't have to speak. All he had to do was go and listen to some idiot doctors make presentations and eat free food. Maybe it was a win-win. Maybe he would go see Rita.

He took his airplane ticket with him and left Cuddy's office. He was to leave in a week and spend a week in LA. Maybe this was just what he needed.

Who was he kidding?


	19. Hiding in the Corner

A/N: I've decided to drag this out a little longer than expected. More inspiration has come to me so I'm running with it. We'll see where it goes.

It was brought to my attention that chapter 15 wasn't loading correctly. It worked for me the numerous times that I tried it. Please let me know if it still doesn't work and I'll re-upload the chapter. No problems.

Thanks for the reviews!! Please keep reviewing to let me know how it's going.

* * *

I'd been working at the blood bank for two days when the first day of the conference came upon me. I stood in front of my makeshift closet for an hour trying to find something to wear. I finally decided upon a fashionable pair of dark gray pinstripe dress pants and a light blue blouse with a matching vest. I pinned the top of my hair back and put on some makeup, trying to look professional but intimidating at the same time. I pulled on some sensible black heels and checked my appearance in the mirror. I knew I would know some of the people here and I needed to come up with a good story before I left. I decided to tell people that I was taking time off to help take care of my sister and for some personal reflection. It was sappy and it was exactly what they would believe.

I left the apartment without a moment to spare and I boarded the bus to UCLA, praying no one I knew would see me getting off. I sat next to an elderly woman who looked like she'd been on the bad side of town for a very long time. I smiled at her and she glared at me. Clearly, she wasn't used to polite strangers. Living in East LA would do that to you. I simply stared out the window and waited to see the school.

By the time I got to the banquet hall there were already a lot of people there. Most of the people were munching on sandwiches and schmoosing. Lucky for me, I hadn't seen anyone I knew yet. I went over to the food and picked up a cookie. I hadn't eaten since yesterday but I didn't want to openly show how hungry I was. I grabbed a glass of water and retreated to the wall, using all of my self restraint in order to keep from shoving the whole cookie in my mouth. I still couldn't see anyone I knew and I took a deep breath. Maybe I'd be able to make it through this without being noticed.

* * *

Greg's hotel room was nice and he knew from the second he opened the door that Cuddy expected him to do more than listen to a couple of boring lectures. She was expecting him to make up with Rita and soothe some of his inner turmoil. As he motioned for the hotel employee to put his bags on the bed, he went to look out the window. His hotel was just off campus and he could see a long way from his 18th floor room. It was a beautiful view.

"Do you need anything else sir?" The boy was expecting a tip or something but House wasn't in the mood.

"No. You can go." He didn't even turn around, choosing to stare out the window until the boy was gone. For some reason, being this far from New Jersey and this close to Rita really bothered him. He still blamed her somewhat for Wilson's death and he had finally admitted that he still had a place for her in his heart, although she would never fill it. He was not going to take advantage of her poor state and then break her heart. This time, he was going to do the right thing.

After a short nap, Greg decided that it was time to make an appearance at the conference. He'd go, at least for the food, and then come back and make a small visit to the hotel's bar. No use being in a nice hotel like this and not exploring the place a little, right?

Upon entering the banquet hall, House made a beeline for the food. He was starved and he grabbed a sandwich. After taking a bite and grabbing a drink, he took a couple of steps back and surveyed the room. Adam Matthews, a guy he'd gone to Michigan with, was there, along with three other doctors he vaguely recognized. They were all sitting at a round table, laughing about something. He scanned the walls and immediately locked gazes with the one person he'd least expected to see.

A flurry of emotions ran through his head as they stared at each other. What was she doing here? Was she working again? Why was she standing in the corner? Why did he suddenly want to hold her? Why was he smiling?

* * *

I saw him walk in and the moment I did I scanned the room looking for an exit. After deciding I was cornered, I backed into the shadows and watched. He didn't look much different, a little more haggard than usual, but not much worse than he had the last time I saw him. I had to swallow roughly a couple of times to put my heart back in it's original spot and I clenched and unclenched my fists to hide the tremors. Seeing him was really getting to me. I needed an escape before he spotted me.

I saw him turn from the table and I knew it wouldn't be long. I watched as he scanned the room, presumably spotting some people he knew at a table and then moving on. The minute his eyes hit mine he locked on. He recognized me immediately. My first reaction was to grin and I tried to squelch it down, there was no call for happiness. His eyes bugged out for a second and then he started to smile. I tried to mask my fear and smiled along with him, hoping he was getting the right message.

He began to head towards me but he was stopped by the man who was sitting at the table that Greg had inspected. The look on his face as the man stepped in his path was almost laughable. I grinned in spite of myself and had to squelch the feeling down again. I took a big gulp of my water and tried to reposition my heart again. This was getting ridiculous. Since when had Greg House made me feel this way? Who was I kidding? He'd always made me feel this way, I'd just never addressed it. Now my body was doing the addressing for me.

"Fancy seeing you here." I'd had my nose buried in my water and didn't see him coming until he was right next to me. I choked and started to cough. Wonderful! Embarrassment was something I had become very familiar with over the past few months.

He slapped me on the back and I cleared my throat, "Thanks and hi." I tried to smile at him but all I could muster was a grimace. He chuckled and I immediately felt better. He'd seen me in more embarrassing predicaments.

"A little birdie told me you weren't going to be here." He took a second and looked me up and down, giving me chills, "Any special reason why you are?"

"Clearly your contacts have their facts wrong. A little birdie told me I should make an appearance. I wonder if our birdies were conspiring." I put the last bite of cookie into my mouth and raised my eyebrows in questioning.

He took a minute and appraised me again, finally making eye contact, he squinted at me, "You've lost weight. Come on, I'll buy you a real meal and you can tell me what you've been doing."

I looked at my watch and back to him, surprised, "It's only four o'clock. It's a little early for a meal."

He looked at me sarcastically, "Are you really going to turn down free food?" He turned and started to walk away, expecting me to follow. I stood there for a second, flabbergasted. He wasn't hostile or passive. He was just being Greg. I didn't get it.

I followed apprehensively, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.


	20. Compromise

A/N: Can't sleep so I thought I'd do some writing. I'm doing each chapter as an event. Hence, the meeting at the conference is one and dinner is another. The hotel will be next and then her apartment after that, I think. I can't be sure though, as I don't feel like I'm writing this. It's like Rita's writing it for me. Please review!!

* * *

We were sitting in a booth at a restaurant right next to his hotel. I'd ordered a simple salad and he'd ordered more food than even he could eat. I understood his motives and I was surprised yet endeared. He was being awfully nice to me and I couldn't figure out why.

"I assumed you weren't going to show up at this conference. I figured you'd want to hide in your hole for a while and let it all blow over." He took a drink of his coffee and looked at me hopefully. I was shocked, he was proud of me for showing up at the conference!

I tried to be smug to cover up my surprise, "Nah, figured it was better to get it over with. Like ripping off a band-aid, you know?"

He chuckled and set his cup down, suddenly serious, "What are you doing now?"

I knew he meant where was I working but I decided to try to drag it out for as long as possible, "Well, right now I'm trying to figure out why you're being so nice to me and waiting for my food to come. What are you doing?"

He scowled and I knew he was frustrated with my answer. He didn't respond and I sighed in defeat, "I draw blood for the blood bank at 33rd and Liberty. Lucky for me, they don't care if you've got a bad reputation or not." If it was possible, I think he scowled more, "It's not so bad of a job and I get to meet a lot of interesting people. The neighborhood isn't very good but some of the people that come through are surprisingly nice. And no one complains about my abrasive personality. I think it's better than a hospital, honestly."

He sat back and ran a hand through his hair, staying quiet and waiting for me to tell him more. I stalled, hoping he would be happy with the answer he got. After a couple of minutes of silence, he looked at me again and motioned for me to continue.

"I'm not doing too badly. I got evicted from my apartment so I live on the east side now but the place I'm staying at is inexpensive and cozy."

He interrupted me by clearing his throat, "Stop sugar coating it. Inexpensive means it's shitty and cozy means it's too small. I'm not an idiot Rita. Just tell it like it is."

I sighed and kept going, leaving the 'sugar', as he put it, out, "I sold my car and my TV so I could move into the new place, so I get bored a lot and I have to ride the bus to work and around town. I don't get paid a lot, almost minimum wage, actually. So food is hard to come by sometimes. But I'm doing okay. It isn't like I'm totally inept. I can take care of myself."

His elbows hit the table with a thump and his head hit his hands with another thump. He didn't look up and I had to listen closely to understand what he was saying, "I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe I'm doing this."

I looked at him curiously and was about to ask what he was referring to when the waitress came with the food. He removed his elbows from the table, allowing her to set the food in front of him. She asked us if we needed anything else and then left, without once making eye contact.

I picked up my fork and looked down at my salad, mumbling, "If it makes you feel any better, I can't believe it either. It all happened so fast, I haven't had time to breathe yet."

We didn't say anything else for a good ten minutes, choosing to sit in comfortable silence and eat our food. No words were needed, at least on my behalf. I was enjoying the company and I was musing on how much had changed since the last meal we'd eaten together.

"Why won't you come back to Princeton?" His question was so blunt that I almost had to ask him to repeat it.  
I took a second to formulate and answer and tried to say it as calmly as possible, "You know me. I'm not one for taking the easy road. A lot of bad things happened there, all at once. I don't want to revisit it."

His fork hit the plate with a resounding clank and I jumped, "He's dead Rita. We fucked up. Let it go. Let _him_ go."

His use of profanity wasn't lost on me. He'd only used that word one other time with me and it was right before we split in med school. I had to blink at least twenty times before I felt sure I wasn't going to cry. He wasn't looking at me but I glared at him anyway.

"_We_ didn't do anything. It's _my_ fault he's dead. I killed your best friend and now you're buying me dinner! What kind of twisted world is this? What do you want from me, Greg? Did you just come here so you could see what kind of a shit-hole I'm living in, in order to get some sort of closure?" He looked up and beneath the mask of anger he looked genuinely hurt, I couldn't stop though, "Well, here, look! I've lost twenty pounds, the circles under my eyes won't go away, there are rats in my bedroom…" I paused and looked down, realizing that I was crying. I whispered the rest, afraid I would lose control and yell, "I have three specialties. I spent eight years in medical school. Eight years and I draw blood for a living! If there is such a thing as divine retribution, I'm really paying for it."

I wiped my face with my arm and tried to look brave. The problem was, I didn't feel brave. I was like a scared little kid who'd lost her parents at the carnival. I didn't know how to live my life anymore.

We were silent for a long time. By the time anyone said anything, he was done with his burger and I'd practically moved on to licking my plate clean. He pushed his french fries over to me and I took one without a fuss. No use in causing more trouble over potatoes.

"I'm sorry, Greg. I just can't deal with it yet. It's too much to think about." He shook his head at me and I took that as a cue to drop the subject all together. I bit off another fry and stared at a spot on the table.

Finally, he sighed and spoke, "Come stay at the hotel with me. My room has two beds. You can at least get some good sleep and eat some real food. We can figure out what to do with you later."

I started to shake my head and he gave me a look that stopped me in my tracks. He wasn't angry and he wasn't upset. He was worried. In that one moment, everything became clear to me. Why he was here, sitting across from me. Why he kept pushing me to return to Princeton. Why he was trying to convince me to stay in his hotel. He looked just as scared as I was. I could see the lines on his face and the worry in his eyes and I was overcome with the need to hug him. Instead, I simply nodded and tried to push all of the courage and happiness I had left in my body across the table to him. He gave me a relieved look before putting up the walls again and asking for the check.

At least I would be getting a good nights rest tonight.


	21. The Strange Feeling

A/N: I bet you all have missed me. I have two chapters ready for upload. Here's chapter 21!

Disclaimer: This is the last one I'm putting. Use common sense people!

* * *

I woke to the sound of screaming. I felt like I was wrapped in cellophane. It didn't take me long to realize the screaming was mine. My cheeks were wet and my throat was on fire. Something was pushing me towards the center of the bed and there was a voice behind my screams.

"Rita, you're okay. Scoot over. It's okay. You're with me. Rita, it's Greg. You're okay." He was gently pushing me over and I let him push. I found the strength to stop the screams and just lay there, whimpering.

When Greg was happy with the space between me and the edge of the bed he pulled back the covers and crawled in, leaning against the headboard, "It's okay, come here." He pulled me closer and I buried my face in his worn t-shirt. I was assaulted with flashbacks from college and med school. Through the thick fog of fear, confusion, and memories, I noticed that he still smelled the same as he always had. In fact, he wasn't much different than he'd been when we were in high school. He was older, smarter, and maybe a little more cynical, but he hadn't really changed much at all. He was still willing to jump to my aid, even when I'd done everything I could to push him away.

"Better?" He was rubbing my back and looking down at me. I had quieted down a little and I was forcing myself to uncurl my fists and let go of his shirt. I nodded into his chest and tried to focus on breathing.

"I can't even remember what the dream was about." I mumbled into his chest and I couldn't hear him chuckle, but I felt it, "I'm sorry." I couldn't raise my voice from a whisper.

"It's okay." He rested his cheek on the top of my head and I heard him sigh, "You're okay." I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling I couldn't name. It started in my lower stomach and spiraled out until I felt like I was going to explode. It made me want to cry all over again.

We sat there in silence for what felt like a lifetime, until I felt him shift uncomfortably. Something in the back of my head told me I should move and when I pulled away he looked down at me. I could see the relief that he was trying to hide. I had been curled on his right side and I was putting pressure on his thigh. Obviously, it hadn't been too bad but he could only take so much.

He scooted down under the covers and pulled me to him again, "Tired?" He whispered into my hair and I was overwhelmed again. I nodded and laid my head on his chest, breathing in his scent. He pulled me so close I thought he was going to pull me on top of him.

I started to drift off and, just before I fell asleep, I heard him whisper, so softly that, when it happened, I thought I was hearing things, "I'm the one who should be sorry. After all these years…"

My brain was fuzzy and I didn't have the energy to concentrate on the words I thought I'd heard. I felt him sigh as I lost consciousness and that feeling that threatened to make me explode welled up again. It stuck with me this time and I fell asleep, warm and content.

The sun was shining on my face and no matter how much I tried to shield my eyes, I couldn't get back to the warm cocoon of sleep that I'd found. I groaned and rolled over, coming into contact with a very solid Greg. It took me a second to realize where I was. This room definitely didn't look like my tiny hotel room. Greg's business suite was fully stocked and I wondered if he was paying for this or if the hospital had fronted it. I wondered why there were two beds.

"Good morning, sunshine." He rubbed his eyes with one arm and then looked over at me.

I smiled and sat up, "Morning." I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching. I pulled the shirt I had borrowed to sleep in down, trying to cover my knees and failing, and headed for the bathroom without a word, heading for the shower. Greg watched me leave and then rolled over to try to go back to sleep.

After thirty minutes in a hot shower, I felt like I knew what I needed to do. There was no way that I could stay in Los Angeles and be anywhere near as successful as I had been at the CDC. Both Dr. Cuddy and Greg had said that there was room for me in New Jersey and I needed the scenery change anyway. I needed to convince myself that this wasn't a handout, it was an opportunity. It was a chance for me to get back some of what I'd lost.

I walked out of the bathroom, wearing one of the robes from the hotel. The news was on TV and Greg was sitting up in bed. He pointed at a pill bottle on the other side of the room and I walked over and grabbed it, tossing it to him and looking for my hairbrush.

"Feel better?" He popped two pills in his mouth as I ran the brush through my wet hair. I nodded and he gave me some sort of half smile. He was starting to get up and I could already tell he was going to be sore from holding me last night. I felt a surge of guilt and pushed it down. The last thing I wanted was to get in an argument with him over his pride. I busied myself with my bag and turned my back on him. I heard him limp to the bathroom and shut the door.

Something wasn't right. It felt comfortable to be around him but at the same time it was like we were separated by a thick glass wall. I couldn't hear what he was saying and, no matter how much he reached out to me, I was still far away.

I heard the shower turn on and I flopped down on the bed. I wondered what he was going to say when he got out. Was he going to just come out and ask me to go to Jersey or was he going to prolong it and stay for the rest of the conference? He didn't seem to be very interested in the conference to begin with and I'd already scanned the lineup for his name; he wasn't speaking. In fact, I really had no idea why he was there in the first place. That struck me as odd. Why would he go to a conference if he didn't have to speak? He wasn't the type to go just to learn something.

I laid back and stared at the hotel room ceiling, though I didn't focus on it. Going to New Jersey seemed to be my only chance to make something out of what I had left. That was if I was still invited. I'd already turned down both Dr. Cuddy and Greg down once. Maybe the invitation wasn't open anymore. Then again, if Greg wasn't here for the conference, what was he here for? It couldn't be because he wanted to see the LA sights. He wasn't that type of guy either.

I heard the shower shut off and I realized I'd been laying there thinking for longer than I thought. I wondered absently how my sister was doing and when the next payment was due to the hospice. Hopefully I'd paid enough in advance and I wouldn't have to pay for a couple more months. I'd be getting a phone call if they wanted more money. I hadn't talked to my sister in months and I think she preferred it that way. She didn't have to say thank you if I never called. She was in poor shape anyway and she usually wanted to be alone.

Greg came out of the bathroom and I could feel his presence in the doorway, even though I wasn't looking at him. He didn't come any farther and, after a couple of silent seconds, I turned my head to look at him. As soon as I did, I regretted it. He was wrapped in a towel from the waist down and he hadn't changed much, as far as appearance goes. He was still one of the most attractive men I'd ever laid eyes on. He was thinner than he used to be and I accounted that to the bad habits he'd developed over the years.

There was a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach and I suddenly got the urge to either jump out of the window or jump him. I desperately needed to jump _something_.

I sat up too fast, making me suddenly light headed, and tried to look nonchalant, "Something I can help you with?"

He looked at me for another minute and I could swear the look in his eyes mirrored what I was sure mine were showing. He masked it almost as quickly as I'd sat up. Wiggling his eyebrows he grinned at me, "I vaguely remember you helping me a few years back. Care to take a trip back in time?"

I smirked at him and tried to mask my feelings too, "That was lame, Greg. Even for you."

He put on a pretend look of hurt and limped over to his suitcase, "And I was going to take you out for ice cream later today."

I laughed and then stuck my tongue out at him, "I'm much nicer after I've had my morning coffee. Hurry up, the grumpy will get worse if we don't hurry."

He smirked and took his pants into the bathroom. Emerging seconds later, he pulled his shirt over his head and gestured to me, "Well come on, get dressed! Breakfast is on me. You're going to owe me when we get back to Jersey. You're buying me lunch for a month."

I shook my head and walked into the bathroom to change back into my clothes from yesterday. That overwhelming feeling surged through me again and I tried to squelch it down. I really needed to figure out what that was.


	22. Like a Child

A/N: This one is short but it wraps up the L.A. portion of the story. I hope you enjoy. REVIEW PLEASE!!

* * *

I've never really spent any time thinking about my future. I mean, sure, when I was a kid I speculated just as much as anyone else. But when I grew up I just stopped looking ahead. It seemed like it was all I could do to keep up with today. However, as we left the hotel and headed for my apartment on the other side of town, it was all I could think about. What was I going to do once I got to New Jersey? Where would I live? What would my job be? Was Dr. Cuddy still going to hire me? The questions buzzed around me and I completely missed two thirds of Greg's monologue about public transportation and almost missed our stop.

"Oh! This is us!" I jumped up as the last person was leaving the bus and pulled Greg out with me. He muttered some curse words and said something about how I should warn him next time I wanted to start a footrace. I was too busy worrying myself into a frenzy. How could I honestly bring him here? I suddenly felt dirty and cheap and I was overwhelmed with the need to turn and run away, dragging him behind me. I pushed through it and we walked the short distance to the row of tiny apartments that served as my home.

I pulled out my key but suddenly turned before I opened the door, "You can't tell _anyone_ about this; no one! Okay?"

He looked like he was about to say something rude and I gave him a look. He shut his mouth and nodded, looking grim. He obviously expected something horrible, after the warning I gave him.

I turned back around and unlocked the door, pushing it open to reveal the dingy room I hadn't missed for one second since I'd been gone. He followed me in and sat down on my bed while I gathered my things together. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a tank top and headed for the small bathroom, ready to change out of the clothes from the day before.

"No TV? How did you occupy yourself? Do I want to know? A room like this– you could have been doing anything." He yelled from my bed and I stuck my head out of the bathroom door, glaring.

"Look on the floor by the left side of the bed." I went back into the bathroom and pulled on my pants, waiting for some sound of shock. Since I'd moved to this place, I'd become obsessed with writing music. If I wasn't eating, sleeping, or working, I was writing music.

No sound came though and after I'd pulled my hair up and tried to make myself look a bit more presentable I left the bathroom with my toiletries to throw into my bag.

When I reached the bed he looked up from the music he'd been staring at, "How do you do it without a piano?" He was honestly impressed.

I pointed to my head and didn't say a word, expecting him to get my drift. Zipping my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I looked over at him questioningly.

He gathered all the music together and held onto it tightly, looking back up at me, "Ready to go?"

I nodded, "I think so." Looking around I made a last mental check to make sure I didn't leave anything, not that there was that much to leave.

"Well let's go, this place gives me the creeps." He shivered dramatically, eliciting a frown from me, and led the way out of the apartment. I silently said goodbye to the lowest point in my life.

After making a short stop in the office to turn in my key and get a small deposit back, we left the place for good and hailed a cab to take us to the hotel again. Greg had apparently had enough of public transportation. I rode next to him in a silent haze and before I knew it we were leaving the hotel and going to the airport. I suddenly realized that neither of us had sat through one speech at the conference. I wondered if he'd get a stern talking to from Dr. Cuddy for hardly attending it.

As we stepped into another cab to take us to the airport I had a sudden realization that stopped me in my tracks. He wasn't here for the conference at all. That was just convenient timing. It was all a plan; it had to be! Dr. Cuddy had set me up! I wanted to say something to Greg but I didn't want to start an argument. I assumed he would deny coming solely for me and blame it on luck. I wondered if I was just reading too much into it. Maybe it _was_ a coincidence.

The cab ride to the airport was quiet and I suddenly found Mozart's Requiem running through my head. Maybe this is how my sister felt when she finally left the slums and came to me. I was sad to leave L.A. but at the same time I was excited to be able to have a job I enjoyed and a life I would be willing to wake up to.

I felt an elbow in my ribs that jolted me out of my reverie, "What are you thinking about?" His blue eyes pierced my green ones and I felt like I was going to cry. It was too much all I once. I was realizing everything all at once. I loved Greg. Greg had come here to rescue me from myself. I was living my sister's nightmare. If it weren't for Greg I'd probably be dead or close to it.

"Nothing, just getting my last look." What was I saying? Who was saying this? Was this even me? I couldn't believe I was lying to the only person who cared about me. The person who was willing to go a thousand miles to save me!

He looked out the front window and wrinkled his nose, "Isn't much of a look. How could you stand living here?"

I shrugged and looked out the window again, berating myself mentally. How could I be such a despicable person? I hadn't even said thank you! How do you say thank you to someone who does something like this and acts like he does? I didn't know whether Greg expected a thank you or if he'd be offended if I tried. It seemed like thank you wasn't enough.

I felt like a helpless child on the way to be judged. I was scared and tired and uncomfortable. At the same time, I was just happy to be alive and with someone who cared about me. Even if he had an odd way of showing it.


End file.
